


Lost Summer

by dream_girl



Category: Def Leppard, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-08-17 05:32:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16510289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dream_girl/pseuds/dream_girl
Summary: Sirius Black's summer on the run post-PoA, aka What Sirius Did on His Summer Vacation Besides Run From the Ministry. He deserves to have a little fun, doesn't he?





	1. Jailbreak

**Author's Note:**

> What did Sirius do the summer he left England after Prisoner of Azkaban? J.K. Rowling never says, so I decided to fill in the blanks. Some iteration of this story been banging around in my head for a couple years. I had to go and make it difficult and invent a whole new character, and she came with a whole new family, so I’ve probably bitten off more than I can chew for my first try at this. But here we are.This is my first fic, all feedback is welcome but please be nice.

_1_

_Friday, June 10, 1994, 2am_

  
He approached the door silently. It wasn’t closed all the way; a faint bluish light was just barely visible around the edges, outlining it against the darkness. Wand light, probably. He stood within arm’s reach, listening hard.

The door belonged to an unused, ramshackle stone barn. It hadn’t been used in so long the trees and weeds had grown up around it, mostly hiding it from view. It had clearly been used by generations of kids—there was a rope swing hanging out of the hay door and a collection of cigarette butts and bottles strewn around the outside.

He could hear Buckbeak scratching around a short distance away. Since he wasn’t sure what was waiting inside the barn he didn’t want to bring him close. Figured he’d have a better chance to get away if something went sideways.

 

* * *

 

“Sirius, listen to me. If you get out of here, do you remember where the Callaghan’s compound is?”

Sirius stared at Dumbledore. Get out of here? How the hell did he expect that to happen?

“Sirius,” Dumbledore said again, urgency in his voice. “Do you remember? Near Bilby?”

“I think so,” he replied.

“Good. There’s an old barn on the southeast edge of the property. I think you’re familiar with it?”

Sirius nodded. They’d spent a lot of time in that barn when they weren’t at the Potter’s.

“If you get out of here, go there. Help will be waiting for you.”

* * *

 Sirius Black replayed this conversation over in his mind, trying to decide whether to push the door open or just get back on Buckbeak and keep going. “Help will be waiting for you.”

He could use the help.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open slowly with his left arm, body taut, right arm drawn back and ready for a fight. It opened silently into a small room with no windows, an old tack room or office. A man was standing on the other side, a lit wand held loosely at his side. The man looked up at the movement, expectant, but didn’t raise his wand.

“Who’s there?” he said quietly. Sirius froze. The man took a step forward, looking in to the darkness around the door.

Sirius knew that voice. He searched his memories trying to place it.

“Sirius? Mate?” Irish. The accent was Irish. He was a Callaghan, of course. Something fell into place in Sirius’ brain.

“Donnie?”

The man took a few more steps forward. “Sirius! Get in here and close the door,” he said with quiet urgency. The relief was clear in his voice. Sirius stepped into the room, gently pushing the door closed. Donnie Callaghan was in front of him, wand raised higher so Sirius could see his face now. “I can’t believe you made it. When Dumbledore’s message arrived, well we were shocked. Couldn’t believe it….” He trailed off for a moment, staring at Sirius. He was close now, close enough to reach out and put his hand on Sirius’ shoulder. “It’s good to see you, mate. We’ve been looking for you.”

Sirius stared at him for a moment. Looking for him? We? What did that mean? And he called him mate. That meant…

Donnie Callaghan was an old friend. They had been friends at Hogwarts and the Callaghans—there were a million of them—had fought against Voldemort. “Looking for me?” Sirius finally said. “What do you mean?”

“Ever since you escaped, we’ve been looking for you. Wanted to help you. The family never thought you betrayed James and Lily or switched sides or any of it. Bunch of bollocks that was,” he said fiercely. “Dumbledore knows that, he and Pop argued about it more than once. So he sent a patronus when you managed to get out of Hogwarts, that he had told you to come here and to help get you out of the country.”

The door opened quietly behind them. Again, Sirius froze. “About bloody time,” Donnie said over Sirius’s shoulder. A small person stood silhouetted in the door. “He’s here then?” a female voice said, closing the door.

“Yeah. This is my cousin Caitlin,” Donnie said. Sirius assessed the new addition. A small woman stood in front of him, dressed in jeans, a leather jacket, and boots, dark hair pulled back. Not much more than a girl, really. She nodded. He could tell she was returning the assessment. She pulled a small handbag from underneath her jacket.

“I brought you some clothes,” she said and started pulling things out of the bag. It was much too small to fit anything she was pulling out. “No idea if they’ll fit, but they’ll be warmer than what you’ve got now.” She handed him a small pile and a pair of boots. Sirius stood, staring.

“Oh, sorry,” Caitlin said. She had to refrain from rolling her eyes. Now was not the moment for modesty, but fine. “I’ll wait outside. But hurry, we need to get going.”

She slipped out the door. Sirius stood frozen, clutching the clothes, until Donnie clapped him on the shoulder again. “Get going mate. You two have to get out of here.”

“You two?” Sirius looked at Donnie, skepticism clearly visible on his gaunt face. He looked at the door Caitlin had just closed. “She’s going to get me out of the country?”

Donnie chuckled softly. “Be careful. Caitlin’s tough as nails and won’t take any cheek. She also takes off on the regular and can melt right into the Muggle world. So yeah, Pop decided she was the best person for the job.”

Sirius nodded and began to change into the jeans, t-shirt, and jacket the woman had given him, doubt creeping in. Maybe this wasn’t the sort of help he needed. Another person would just add risk, and getting caught with him would be the end of their freedom, probably their lives. Donnie softly called Caitlin back in when he was done. “Alright?” she said. “Ready to go? I’ve just had an owl from Kate, we’ve got about half an hour to move east before any Aurors or Dementors are in the area.”

Kate. Callaghan, presumably. Another name he recognized. Donnie’s mother, wasn’t she? He shelved that thought in his mind for now.

“Let’s go,” Sirius nodded. Doubt be damned. Donnie was a good bloke, often helping he, James, Remus, and Peter with a prank or out of a jam at school. And he said he’d been looking for him, wanting to help. Sirius clung to that thought, that someone out there had wanted to help him. Was helping him. Didn’t think he was guilty. The night had been revelation after revelation and lucky beyond hope so far. This wasn’t the time to start questioning. He was going to trust that they really were going to help him.

They moved quietly out of the barn, Donnie and Caitlin’s wands drawn. Sirius led them to the spot he’d left Buckbeak, a small clearing just within sight of the barn. Caitlin approached the hippogriff slowly and bowed. Buckbeak eyed her with one orange eye for a moment, and bowed back. Sirius exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d held. That would have been a problem, Buckbeak not accepting the girl.

Caitlin turned to look at Donnie. “I’ll send word when I can. You do the same.”

Donnie nodded and put his arm around her shoulders in a one-armed hug. “Be careful,” he said. “You too,” turning to Sirius. “I’ll see you again soon.” With that, they were gone.

* * *

They flew silently through the night, tense and watchful. She sat in front of him with her wand drawn. He was grateful for the clothes now. It would have been freezing in his tattered robes, even as accustomed to the cold as he was. They didn’t speak much. Being around other people had become foreign over the last twelve years, and it was a little disconcerting to have someone this close. He didn’t know where to put his arms or hands. At one point she gave a small shiver and he reflexively started to put his arms around her, but caught himself. He didn’t even know her. He didn’t need her to shove him off into the ocean below.

They were over land when the sky started to lighten. “We should hide for the day, yeah?” she asked.

Once ensconced in a small wooded area that seemed secluded enough, Caitlin cast protective charms around them and sat on the ground. “You must be starving,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m so sorry. I brought food and then forgot to give it to you in the rush to leave. Nana will kill me.” She waved her wand over her bag and a picnic basket flew out. “Merlin, you’d think she sent us off on a date.” She did roll her eyes this time, pulled out a sandwich, and pushed the basket toward Sirius. “Eat, please.” How could he say no? He hadn’t eaten anything in days and couldn’t remember the last time he’d had proper food.

They ate silently. She was watching him, trying not to be obvious. Studying him, really. When she was finished she waved her wand over the bag again and out flew a sleeping bag and pillow. “I didn’t have time for a tent,” handing them to him. “We’re still close enough to England that we should probably take it in turns to keep watch. I’ll go first. You sleep.”

“S’alright,” he said. After a moment, “Thanks.”

Caitlin sat down against a tree and Sirius laid down a few feet away. Exhausted, he went over the events of the last ten or eleven hours in his mind. Harry knew now that Sirius had not betrayed James and Lily. So did Remus, and they all knew that Peter was alive and a traitor. The thought of Wormtail was accompanied by a flare of anger. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. They knew the truth. Dumbledore had helped him escape. Dumbledore had sent him to more people that believed him, although what they knew…that was a matter for later. There was some satisfaction in all of it, and relief—Merlin, _relief_ —that he was still alive, even if that bloody traitorous rat had gotten away.

He looked over at Caitlin, who was writing in a small leather-bound book. It was his turn to watch her now that she wasn’t paying attention. She was small, that original assessment was correct. But now that he could see her in the daylight, he realized she wasn’t quite as young as he initially thought. The shadow under her eyes wasn’t just from fatigue, nor were the faint lines around her mouth. Donnie said she was his cousin. Sirius knew most of Donnie’s cousins, as well as his aunts and uncles and grandparents. They were a pureblood family in the same vein as the Weasleys—as in, not really—but wealthier. Which were her parents? She couldn’t have been more than a child during Voldemort’s time. He tried to remember all the cousins’ names while he studied her. Siobhan and Aoife were older than this woman, though she looked like both with her luxurious long brown hair—she’d let it down after they ate—and startling blue eyes. Neither of them had a younger sister…he let the exhaustion wash over him, still contemplating this curious creature he’d ended up with.

Caitlin watched Sirius sleep, head leaned back against a tree. Well, that had been an interesting night. Not exactly what she’d planned. _Planned_ , she thought sarcastically. If that’s what you called it. The most exciting plans her evenings consisted of the past year were dinners at Nana and Pop’s house. They were extra exciting if some of her cousins joined them. But last night—well, that had been interesting. She hadn’t been back in London long enough to take her shoes off when Pop started hollering at her from the fire to get things for a trip, including men’s clothes, and get back to their house immediately. She’d thrown a few things together for herself, grabbed some of Steve’s old clothes, and left.

Disbelief didn’t quite describe what she felt when Pop told her what he was sending her to do. Unbeknownst to anyone, she and Donnie had been looking for Sirius Black ever since he escaped. They had a theory, based on her father’s information and Donnie being his mate, on how he was moving and what he was after, and now he was coming to them. And she was supposed to get him out of England and help him hide. “Keep him safe, get him healthy” Pop had instructed. Donnie wanted to go too, but Jeannie would have killed him. He couldn’t leave her and the kids to go off on some mad adventure with the most wanted criminal in the wizarding world, innocent old friend or not. So they sent her. Might as well, she had nothing else to do.

So here she was, watching the man she’d been looking for, whose innocence she’d proclaimed to anyone who’d listen since he’d been sent to Azkaban, whose dreams she’d watched for years, sleep right in front of her. He didn’t know any of that, of course. She was fairly certain he didn’t remember her. He looked awful. Gaunt, exhausted, and dirty. His hair was disgusting. “I wonder if he’ll let me cut it,” she mused absently. But underneath all of that she could still see the man she remembered from her childhood, the man that set all of her female relatives aflutter when he turned up. That man was still there, would still be handsome. Now he was asleep, seemingly peacefully. That was a good thing. There needed to be more of that, somehow. How she was going to manage to make sure he slept while on the run from the Ministry was going to be a challenge. But that’s why Pop had sent her. She’d risen to all the challenges life had hurled at her so far, ugly as they were.

They’d taken the most direct way out of England she could think of—due east. Thanks to Kate, they hadn’t encountered any resistance on the way out. They had to be in the Netherlands now, they hadn’t been over land that long when it started to get light. South might be a good direction to head. It was warm—something Sirius hadn’t experienced in a long time, she figured—and she spoke French. She could blend. The further away from England and the Ministry they could get, the better. The beginnings of a plan were taking shape in her head.

* * *

 

_Friday, June 10, 1994, approximately 8:30pm_

  
Sirius woke to Caitlin gently shaking his shoulder. “Come on sleepy head, it’s time to go,” she said softly. He laid there a moment, confused, eyes closed, taking inventory. The memories of the previous night came back slow and disjointed, and he wasn’t sure if they were real or if he’d finally lost his mind. He was on the ground, but warm. The voice belonged to a woman, and it was kind. He was hungry, but not ravenous and hollow feeling. All those were things were pleasant but unfamiliar. He was not dreaming, he was reasonably sure. He was trying to remember where he was and who that voice belonged to when it came again. “I know you’re knackered but we really need to get moving.”

The girl. Woman? Whatever she was. Caitlin Callaghan. That’s who the voice belonged to. She was helping him escape. He opened his eyes. The light was…fading? Had she let him sleep all day? He lifted himself up on to his arm and looked around. “What time is it?” he asked, his voice more like a low growl.

“Um, about half eight?” she replied, not looking at him.

“At night?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you wake me earlier? I would have taken a turn,” he said.

“You needed to sleep more than I did today.” She looked over her shoulder at him, smiling. “I can sleep on Buckbeak if you promise not to let me fall off.”

They didn’t talk much. She wasn’t sure he wanted to and she had to be careful not to betray how much she knew about him. Inexplicably knowing too much put the average person off—who knew how Sirius would take it. He, on the other hand, didn’t know what to do with her. Once he’d seen her in the light, he realized she was the probably the most exquisite woman he’d ever encountered. That was saying quite a lot, considering he’d known some extraordinary women. Although it was just as likely that this was the results of twelve years of no women, combined with sudden close company with this one. Either way, she was lovely.

It was remarkably comfortable to be around her too, like an old friend. He wasn’t sure why it was so easy—that was disconcerting in of itself. He very much wanted to know her, he just wasn’t sure where to start. And there were still doubts. He had no idea what she was capable of, how she would react if they were caught. Would she run? Fight? How capable of a witch was she? All these questions and more were swirling in his head, without a decent way to ask without sounding like a prat.

They flew south for three nights. He’d agreed to this proposal since it seemed as reasonable as anything else and going someplace warm was appealing. His uncertainty didn’t improve much. She didn’t try to talk to him unnecessarily, but her body language while they were flying eased. He couldn’t tell if she was becoming more comfortable with his presence—or he with hers—or if she was letting her guard down. She still flew with her wand ready, and while they were on the ground she was vigilant, taking on her watches and protecting their hiding spots without question. Still, the unknown factor left him uneasy.

On the second evening, as they were packing up to go, an owl arrived, landing on Sirius’ leg. Padfoot was scrawled across the front of the parchment in a familiar hand. Remus. The note inside had but two lines: _Trust her without question. I do._ Sirius stared at it. How had Remus known?

“Any news?” she asked.

“No, just a note from Remus.” She nodded and turned away, maybe a touch of disappointment on her face.

Sirius tucked the note in his pocket. If Remus had that much faith in this woman, there was no reason not to trust her.

* * *

 

_Monday, June 13, 1994, morning_

The fourth morning found them in another barn. It was easier to hide Buckbeak in an enclosed space where he was less skittish. It also made Sirius and Caitlin feel less exposed. Even though the journey had been uneventful thus far, they were both on edge. Just as skittish as Buckbeak, really.

The picnic basket Nana Callaghan—he recalled that’s what everyone called her—sent had been emptied before they’d left the last hiding spot and Caitlin had ventured out to replenish their supplies. She’d been gone awhile, the sun had risen fully now. Pacing the length of the barn in the shadows, Sirius waited impatiently. Where was she? How had he grown so accustomed to her presence in such a short time that he was unnerved not knowing where she was or when she would be back? He liked the way she smelled, sweet and clean, and the way she felt sitting close to him—or sleeping on him, leaning against his chest—on Buckbeak. He was forced to put his arms around her while she slept, and didn’t always let go after she woke up. He felt calmer when she was near.

He continued his pacing for a while, glancing through the loose wall boards with every sound, impatience growing with every turn. Buckbeak stopped scratching around and put his beak on Sirius’ shoulder, as if telling him to stop. He patted Buckbeak’s neck. “Sorry, mate,” he sighed, and transformed into the shaggy black dog. He laid down in the shadows, waiting, tail beating a soft rhythm against the ground the only sign of his continued impatience.

Finally— _finally_ —there was movement outside. The dog’s ears perked up first, then his head raised up slightly from the ground, body tense, listening. Whatever it was, it was coming closer. It didn’t sound like a human, there were too many foot falls. While he sniffed the air, looking for Caitlin’s scent or a trace of whatever was coming, a huge black cat slipped into the barn. The dog jumped to his feet and let out a low growl, hair raised. The cat froze, searching the shadows for the source of the sound. It turned towards him, its blue eyes searching, head raised slightly to sniff the air, sharp teeth slightly bared. The dog caught Caitlin’s scent. _Where is she?_ he thought with a hint of panic, not wanting her to surprise this creature. The cat was sleek and powerful, it would tear her apart. The cat started to approach him slowly. He watched it move closer, ready to attack at the slightest provocation. There was her scent again. _Where is she?_ The cat was in right in front of him, head cocked to one side, as if it was studying him. It sniffed again and moved closer. It was almost nose-to-nose with him now and all he could smell was _her_. His panic was threatening to spill over and then, with a soft pop, Caitlin was standing in front of him.

The giant black dog stared at her for a moment and then transformed himself, swearing. Caitlin was smiling mischievously, the cat’s blue eyes sparkling. “Did you think you were the only shape-shifter around, Black?”

“You could have told me! Merlin, I thought you were going to come back and be eaten or something!”

“Couldn’t you smell me?”

“I didn’t know where it was coming from! You’re lucky I didn’t attack you.” The adrenaline was still coursing through him, causing him to shake. Suddenly he became aware of how close they were standing, still practically nose-to-nose. Looking down at her, he was almost overcome by the urge to kiss her. She smelled delicious.

Her eyebrows raised as she stared back at him, a smile playing around her lips, and he stepped back. “What are you, anyway? What kind of cat?”

“A panther?” It was a question, as if she thought it was obvious and he was being ridiculous. But she was so slight, so feminine, that the idea of her transforming into some sort of vicious predator was almost absurd. “They’re solitary animals—ambush predators—aware of you before you’re aware of them and gone just as fast, melting away into the dark.” It was as if she’d read the question off his forehead.

Melting away into the dark, he mused. Donnie had said she could melt into the muggle world, and took off alone regularly. It was beginning to make sense, why they sent her.

“I brought breakfast,” she said, interrupting his thoughts, pulling bread, fruit, and cheese out of her bag. And handed him a cup of tea.

“Really? A cuppa?”

“It’s breakfast, isn’t it?”

Sirius gaped at her for a moment. “I haven’t had a cuppa in…years,” he said slowly, breathing in the scent of the tea. That smell was amazing, flooding him with warmth and calm, the panic he was just feeling swept away with the steam off the cup.

“I imagine that will be true of most things for a while,” she said, handing him a hunk of bread and cheese. “I didn’t know how you take it so I made it the same as mine, with cream and sugar.”

“Thank you.” He sat back on the ground, holding the steaming takeaway cup in both hands, still inhaling the scent. He was almost afraid to drink it.

“You should eat that bread while it’s still warm. It’s amazing.” He was so taken with the revelation of tea he hadn’t noticed the bread.

“Where are we?” he asked taking a bite.

“Outside Nice.” As she chewed he noticed the pensive expression on her face.

“Is everything alright, Callaghan? Did you have trouble?” He’d taken to calling her Callaghan the second day, understanding now why James insisted on calling Lily by her last name for so long. It gave the perception of distance between them, the illusion of him having more control around her than he actually did.

“No, no trouble. Although it does make me nervous, that it’s been this easy, you know? And we haven’t had word from anyone. I mean, you are the most wanted man in England. I feel like we should have had a harder time of it…” she trailed off.

“So….” The question was clear in his voice.

“I’ve been thinking about our next move.”

“Mmm hmmm?” he said, mouth full.

She looked hard at him, eyes narrowed. “Do you have a plan?” It was demand more than a question.

“Not really.” He smirked. “You might not know this Callaghan, but planning’s never been my thing.”

She laughed. “I dunno, some of the stories I’ve heard sound like they took a fair amount of planning. I have an idea though. Hear me out?” She’d spent a lot of time thinking about what they were going to do since that first morning. She had no intention of leaving him, which meant it was probably going to be a long haul. They needed a plan.

“Shoot,” he said, again abandoning his food in favor of the tea and leaning back on his elbows. It was amazing to eat real food regularly, even if they were running from Dementors and the Ministry and existing nocturnally.

“No offense, but you’re in no fit state to go out in public.” His eyebrows shot up, but he grinned. She stood up and started to pace the same path he had worn waiting for her to return. “Nice is a pretty crowded city with lots of tourists, I reckon I can get us a muggle hotel room. I travel often enough, it wouldn’t be unusual for me to be at a hotel alone. You can’t be seen, obviously, but a disillusionment charm will take care of that.” She waved a hand in the air, as if to brush away any concern. “We could sleep in real beds and get you some clothes. And we could both use a shower.” This was the closest thing to a complaint that she’d uttered.

“That’s it? That’s your plan?”

“No.” The pensive expression returned to her face and she stopped pacing, looking at him and chewing on her lower lip. “There’s more. I don’t want to stay here more than a couple of days at most. I have a house—“ He made a noise of protest and she help up a hand to stop him. “No wait, hear me out! I know that sounds crazy, but I have a house on Karpathos. It’s an island near Turkey, in Greece. It was my dad’s before he married my mum. I haven’t been there in years, since I was about nine I think. No one knows about it…well, I suppose my aunts and uncles might remember, but I’m pretty sure most everyone forgotten about it. I have no idea what kind of condition it’s in. We could go there, use it as a base. We could put the fidelius charm on it. Then at least we could go outside during the day and enjoy the sunshine instead of hiding from it. And it’s got a bit of space for Buckbeak to roam.” She bit her bottom lip again, waiting for his reaction.

He contemplated this for a minute, staring off into space. The whole thing was risky, the odds of being seen or caught astronomical. But a _real bed_. A real bed sounded heavenly. So did a bath, which he most definitely could use.

“Which part of it don’t you like?” she asked finally, ending his reverie. “It’s certainly not risk free, but it’s better than bouncing around never knowing what we’re going to run in to.”

“Who are your parents?” he asked, looking up at her.

“Huh?” She looked startled at the abrupt shift in topic.

“Your parents,” he said. “I knew all the Callaghans, all Donnie’s aunts and uncles and cousins. I don’t remember you at all. Who do you belong to?”

“Oh.” She looked down at the cup in her hands, hair falling over her face, hiding her expression. “Patrick and Maeve.”

Sirius was silent, watching her as she stared at the cup, or the ground, or anywhere but him. He had known Patrick and Maeve. They were wonderful people—clever, kind, and fun. Merlin, they were a laugh. Patrick was somewhat of a hero to boys Sirius’ age. A halfblood with an American mother and British father, he’d grown up in America. He was devastatingly handsome and debonair, with fancy cars and fashionable clothes and friends, and always had a pretty woman on his arm. Lots of them. And he was a sworn bachelor. When he came to England as a young man he’d attracted quite a lot of attention. Despite the wealth and reputation as a playboy, he was particularly kind. To add to his allure, he was an Auror and fought hard against Voldemort’s rise. All the boys idolized him.

Maeve was a great beauty—all the Callaghan women were, but Maeve was remarkable even by that standard—and fifteen years Patrick’s junior. Rebellious and carefree, she modeled for Muggle magazines and made a habit of socializing with Muggle rock stars. The boys loved her, too—her picture was all over the Gryffindor dormitories and most boy’s bedrooms, along with her sisters and cousins. Even the girls loved her, aspiring to the same independent, carefree life she represented. Maeve fought Voldemort’s rise just a fervently as Patrick, speaking out vehemently for Muggle rights and protection. Both of them were powerful wizards.

When they finally met, Patrick’s confirmed bachelorhood was ruined instantly. It was a bit of a scandal when they married after a whirlwind romance—everyone assumed she was pregnant. Like _that_ would have convinced Maeve Callaghan to get married. She probably would have refused on principle.

Sirius had known both of them in some fashion most of his life, but became close to them during the war. The Marauders spent a fair amount of time with them due to the Order of the Phoenix, and Patrick was Mad-Eye’s right hand man and best friend. Their house had served as a second headquarters. Sirius remembered their little girl— Patrick and Maeve’s only child, a bright, precocious little thing, the baby of all the cousins. They doted on her, Patrick especially. She had been particularly close with Kate’s children, even Donnie, who was much older than she was. Her nickname was little mamma because she was so bossy, but the cousins all did what she said. The adults—including the Marauders—found it all terribly amusing and used to egg her on.

They lived down the lane from the Potter’s in Godric’s Hollow. Maeve had been a considerable help to Lily while she was pregnant and after she had Harry. The little girl was always there too, helping and entertaining Harry, even babysitting occasionally.  
Patrick and Maeve Callaghan were also dead. They had been some of the last people killed by Death Eaters. Patrick was Frank Longbottom’s partner and, rumor had it, had been targeted as a way to get to Frank. She couldn’t have been that old when they were killed.

“I didn’t expect that you’d remember me,” she said quietly. “I was twelve when you went to Azkaban.”

“I remember you. Just a much smaller you.”

They both stared into their takeaway cups for a few moments.

“You’re really taken with that cuppa, aren’t you?” she teased, breaking the tension.

“Yeah, well it’s been awhile, hasn’t it? I love the smell of tea.” She was avoiding talking any more about her parents, that was obvious.

“Me too.” She paused a moment before asking, “So? What do you think?”

The more he learned about her, the more he trusted her. Her parents, Donnie and Remus’s faith in her, her animagus form. Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. “Do you know how to perform the fidelius charm?”

She grinned. “I think I have a basic idea.”


	2. Animal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Caitlin gamble on a hotel, a hot shower, and a soft bed.

_ 2 _

 

_ Monday, June 13, late afternoon _

Eight hours later Sirius found himself invisible under a Disillusionment charm, in a bright white hotel lobby surrounded by more people than he had been in a very long time. It was noisy, the voices of other guests echoing off the marble-clad walls mingling with the lobby piano player and general hum of sound made by people moving through.  It was a grand Old World hotel that would be pleasant under other circumstances, someplace she’d stayed before. She’d insisted on that, arguing that it would be easier to pick out potential problems if it was someplace familiar, and easier to escape. Given that she knew the area and was paying, he’d relented.

She’d left and called from a payphone that morning to book the room. They’d spent the rest of the day going over scenario after scenario and decided he would stay close, holding lightly on to her bag or shirt so she would know where he was, and so he could warn her if necessary. It was the most they’d spoken since they met. He was supposed to be playing lookout as she checked them in. Instead, he was overwhelmed by the noise and people and completely rattled.

“Bonjour,  _ Madame  _ Clark,” greeted the stiffly groomed gentleman at the reservation desk in heavily accented English.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Dubois,” she smiled, smoothly switching to French. “Is my room available?”

“Oui, _Madame_. My sincerest apologies that the Grand Suite was not available today.”

The conversation continued, Sirius only half listening. His eyes wandered restlessly over the lobby, into corners and around columns, scanning for anything amiss. He had not expected to be so unnerved, although he hadn’t thought about the steps required to actually get into the hotel room despite going over and over it in the barn. His mind had skipped right to the room and the thought of a bath and proper bed. Without him noticing, she’d placed a hand on his, silently willing him to loosen his death grip on her shirt. Startled, he almost let go but her hand kept him in place. It was comforting, her hand on his, and the first time she’d deliberately touched him off of Buckbeak. They’d left Buckbeak in the barn, several protective spells in place and a supply of food. Hopefully he’d still be there when they went back.

“Merci beaucoup, _Madame_. Lucas will show you to your room.”

Sirius came back to the conversation with the introduction of the bell boy. “Merci, Monsieur Dubois,” she was saying. Turning to the bell boy, she smiled.

“You have no luggage today,  _ Madame _ ?”

“No, not today Lucas. I decided to take a spur of the moment holiday.” She smiled at the boy—really, he wasn’t much younger than she was—who blushed.

“Oui  _ Madame _ , follow me, s’il vous plait.” She could feel Sirius’ grip tighten again. Making their way through the crowded lobby was challenging. Summer on the Cote d’Azur brought the tourists in droves. They made it into an elevator where she backed into a corner, pressing him behind her, so none of the other guests would bump into an invisible person. Fortunately at this time of day, more people seemed to be leaving their rooms than going to them. When they exited on the fourth floor they found—to Sirius’s immense relief—an empty corridor.

Lucas led them to a corner door at the end of the corridor, unlocked the room, and held the door open. “Here you are,  _ Madame _ .”  She stepped close to Lucas, giving Sirius room to sneak by without notice. Lucas blushed deeply, clearly trying not to look down her low-cut shirt as she nearly pressed against him. Out of somewhere she produced a 100 pound note and slipped it into Lucas’ hand.

“Merci beaucoup, Lucas. I’m looking forward to a quiet stay.” It was clear Lucas noted the emphasis on  _ quiet _ as he nodded.

“Of course,  _ Madame  _ Clark. At your service.” Lucas closed the door behind him and Caitlin leaned against it, eyes closed, letting out a long breath. She stayed there a moment then drew her wand and reversed the disillusionment charm and placed a privacy charm on the room.

“Fucking hell, that was nerve-wracking.”

The room was large, but not overly so. It was in a corner of the building and had large, floor to ceiling windows on two sides, filling the room with light. A living area with two couches and some muggle devices he didn’t recognize took up one half, and a large bed the other. The furniture was comfortable looking and modern, all white, as were the window coverings, and the floor was a natural wood. The effect was bright and spacious. The hotel staff’s address to her— _ Madame  _ Clark—registered in Sirius’ brain as she moved across the room, casting protective charms.

“ _Madame_ _Clark_?” he said, eyebrows raised. “Who’s she?”

She didn’t turn around. “It’s my husband’s name,” she answered absently. “Muggles go back and forth between my name and his.”

“Husband?” She had a husband? Sirius didn’t know what to make of this new piece of information. He felt his stomach twist. This didn’t fit neatly into the puzzle.

“Yeah.”

“What does he think of this?”

“Think of what?”

“You running off with an escaped murderer. Or some other bloke.”

She turned to look at him now, blue eyes flashing. “You are  _ not _ a murderer.” This was the first time she’d acknowledged the accusation against him, but didn’t pursue it any further. “And what would he think of it? I dunno. Probably think it was a laugh and tell me to have a good time.” She shrugged and turned back to casting charms.

Sirius considered this for a moment. “So he doesn’t know where you are?” he asked slowly.

“I expect not. Why?” she said, turning to look at him with a puzzled expression. As they looked at each other, a flash of comprehension crossed her face.

“Oh. Sirius, my husband is dead.”

Shocked again, he stared at her. Dead? But she was so young. How could he be dead? It was a silly thought, so many people he knew died younger than she probably was.

“I…I’m sorry,” he faltered.

“It’s alright, yeah? There’s no reason you would know that. I’m just so used to people knowing it didn’t occur to me that you didn’t.”

“Why does everyone know?”

She smiled ruefully. “He was a muggle rock star, died young. Quite the scandal at the time.”

“Damn,” he said, impressed. Not because the dead husband was a rock star, but because of the balls it took for her, a witch, to marry one. He liked her more and more. “The Ministry let you get away with that?”

“There are benefits to being a Callaghan,” she laughed, really smiling this time. “They weren’t happy, but they tolerated it. I was already modelling for muggle magazines and the like, so I was known in his world. And Nana and Pop protected us.”

“How does your family get away with that, anyway?” The Callaghan’s association with the muggle world was well-known. All the girls were models, and even some of the boys. Everything they did pushed the boundaries of the International Statute of Secrecy.

“Squibs. There are enough Squibs in the family that integrated into the muggle world that we can put layers between muggles and us. They handle all the legal and financial things for us, so we’re technically not breaking the Statute.”

“Is that why the bell boy was so taken with you?”

She shrugged, continuing to move around the room. “Because I’m a famous rock star’s widow? Maybe. Or he’s seen me naked in a magazine.”

“What?!” he sputtered, shocked for the third time in as many minutes.

She laughed. “You’re so extra! It’s Callaghan family  _ tradition _ for the girls to pose for  _ The Sun _ ,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Didn’t you have pictures of my mum and aunts hanging ‘round your dorm?”

He’d forgotten that detail. All the Callaghan did women pose for  _ The Sun _ , and he  _ did _ have photos of her mum and aunts hung up among the bikini-clad muggle girls. So did all his friends.

“And I was a bathing suit model, for fucks sake. I’ve spent half my life running around practically naked. It’s a handy distraction.” The door to the loo clicked as she closed it.

Sirius stood in the middle of the sunlit room, the overwhelming feeling threatening again in the momentary quiet. Everything seemed to both tumble in on him and lift away all at once. The lightness of the room, the weight of the past several day’s events, the choice—limited, but still a  _ choice _ —of where to sit or lay, the luxury of the space, the ability to move around it as a man instead of a dog in the light of day, the elation of having made it into the hotel room, the knowledge that the feeling of safety was an illusion, all combined to leave him both elated and uncertain. Not knowing what to do brought him close to tears.

He hadn’t heard her come out of the loo and jumped when she laid a hand on his arm. “That couch over there is calling your name,” she said gently, almost as if she read the waves of emotion flowing over him. He allowed her to lead him across the room and sank onto the couch. Flopping down opposite him, she leaned back against the couch, squeezed her eyes shut, and rubbed her hands over her face. They were silent for a few moments. “What do you want first? A bath? Food? A nap?”

More choices he didn’t have answers for. He leaned back into the couch, one hand behind his head, and gazed out of the window.

For the first time since she’d joined him, he looked fragile. She had made it a point to study what happened to people imprisoned in solitary confinement. It had all sorts of terrible, lasting effects on a person—anxiety, depression, obsessive thoughts, paranoia, cognitive disturbances. Steve thought she was mad, laughed that she was going to become an activist nutter or something. But her determination to clear Sirius Black’s name, to finish what her father started, pushed her forward. That and her acquired hatred of Azkaban and those foul creatures in it. So many wizards thought they were better than muggles, yet muggles treated their prisoners far more humanely than wizards.

Caitlin could see the toll his confinement had taken. Obsessive thoughts were clearly an issue, although now that he’d achieved that goal—partially, anyway—they’d have to see how, or if, that resolved. Any paranoia was certainly justified at the moment. And he was clearly overwhelmed in the crowded lobby. The Karpathos house was feeling more and more like a good choice. The island was relatively small and the house was outside of town—hopefully it was habitable. It had been so long since she’d seen it. He could venture out slowly and gently catch up with the world he’d been isolated from.

Despite the obvious effects, he was remarkably resilient. Sirius had made it through eleven years of that hell intact, mostly on his own. She’d intervened only twice—when he was on the brink of madness—and then only just enough to pull him back to a place where he could right himself. Coming clean about that was going to be tricky. Necessary though, that she was certain about. She had never been sure about it with anyone else, knowing that it would scare most people away. It was only fair for him to know and she was bound to slip up at some point the longer they stayed together.

Watching Sirius doze on the couch through the fingers still covering her face, she felt a surge of affection. His appearance had already begun to change in the four days they’d been together. There was color in his face that hadn’t been there when she’d first seen him in the light, and something else, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Less tension, maybe? And she thought she liked him, which she wasn’t certain would happen. Yes, she’d spent a lot of time learning about him and talking about him and wandering through his dreams, and she remembered him from her childhood when she’d fancied him like everyone else. But that didn’t mean she’d actually like him in the present. And he seemed to like her? It was hard to tell. A sudden impulse to hug him led her to envision what it might be like to put her arms around his shoulders and nuzzle into his neck.  _ Stop it _ , she reprimanded herself.  _ You’re not here to shag him _ .

The voice—still rough from disuse—that interrupted her musing was soft. “Donnie said you were looking for me.” He was looking at her now, hand still behind his head, gray eyes sharp and clear. His gaze was piercing.

Looking back at him she took her hands off her face, still slouched on the couch. “We were. Had been since you’d escaped.”

“We?”

“Yeah, he and I.”

“Why?”

“Because we wanted to help you?”

“He said that the other night. I get why he might want to help me. But why you? And how did you think you were going to find me?”

She grinned at him. “We had a theory about what you might be after.” He cocked his eyebrow and smiled back, an expression both amused and doubtful playing around his face. He looked much less skeletal when he smiled. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, that’s so.”

“And what was this theory, if I may be so bold?” He was only half teasing.

She sat up, elbows on her knees. “Well…where do I start? I guess with the premise that you were never guilty? Me da was furious when you were sent to Azkaban. He had been tasked with finding the leak in the Order, did you know that? Spent almost a year hunting the source down, planting little bits of false information. By the time the Potters went into hiding he’d narrowed his focus down to two people—Mundungus Fletcher and our mutual friend, Peter Pettigrew.” Her face twisted at the mention of Peter. “You were never a serious suspect, neither was Remus, though he did investigate everyone at some point. So when they accused you of switching sides and pinned the Potter’s deaths on you, he bloody well lost it. He  _ knew _ it was Peter. But no one would listen and Dumbledore gave evidence that you were their secret keeper…me da never spoke to Dumbledore again. He tried to pull me out of Hogwarts and send me to Ilvermory but mum wouldn’t let him. They were killed shortly after…” Caitlin trailed off for a moment, staring at the floor. Sirius remained silent, allowing her to collect herself.

“Da did manage to convince the family though. He’d kept careful notes and laid out his case for Nana and Pop, and they agreed.” She looked up at him again with steely eyes. “The Callaghan’s have never believed you were guilty.”

“Donnie said that your Pop had argued about it with Dumbledore.”

“Many times, I think. Pop picked up the banner after Da died, he and my uncle Joe did. I think they even tried to see you in Azkaban once, but were turned away.” 

Sirius looked at her sharply. Yes, they did try to visit him. He didn’t know why at the time, assumed it was to try and get a confession or information on Voldemort, so he refused to see them. He could add that to the list of grievous mistakes of his life.

“So the Callaghan’s believed I was innocent,” he prompted. “That doesn’t tell me what your theory was.”

“Right. We knew you were innocent, we knew who really did betray the Potter’s. Bloody coward, he is. Da had speculated that Peter might have faked his own death, but he didn’t have any proof. And I knew your secret.”

“What? What secret?”

She chuckled. “You lot weren’t as careful as you thought you were.”

“What are you on about?”

“I knew that you were animagi. Or, that three of you were animagi anyway. And Remus was a werewolf.”

Surprised, he stared at her. “How did you know that?” he asked after a moment, brows furrowed.

She sighed. “Adults always think children aren’t paying attention, or that they’re so much smarter than children. I’d seen you transform once, and overheard several conversations about Remus’s ‘furry little problem.’ Kids aren’t stupid, I figured it out. And I asked Lily about it. Oh, she didn’t give you away,” noticing the indignation on his face. “At least, she didn’t  _ say _ anything. But the expression on her face when I asked told me everything I needed to know. When I stayed awake during the next full moon, I saw you all and figured out who was who.” 

_ Precocious little thing, indeed _ , he thought.

“So I told Da after they sent you to Azkaban. He had suspected something like that and it fit in with the information he’d already gathered. Given that Peter transformed in to such a small animal and blasted a hole to the  _ sewer _ , he thought it plausible that he’d faked his own death. But,” she sighed again, “he couldn’t prove it.”

“But Donnie and I knew. I think Donnie may have known you were all animagi before that. When you escaped, he and I both assumed you were going after Peter, not Harry Potter. We just couldn’t figure out why you’d go to Hogwarts looking for him. Until Christmas. Over the hols some of the younger cousins were telling school stories and mentioned that Ron’s rat was ill and being harassed by Hermione’s cat, and how long Ron had had that rat. Donnie and I about fell out of our chairs! He was  _ right there _ !” She was excited now, pacing the length of the couch and punctuating the story with her hands. “Right in the bloody Gryffindor common room, right in the dorms! It had to be him! It all clicked into place. Then we really started looking.” Caitlin paused and looked up at him. “We were looking before, but we didn’t really know where until Halloween, and even then we didn’t have enough to go on without being conspicuous.”

“We made up all sorts of excuses to go to Hogsmeade. I could slip into the Forbidden Forest as a panther—I spent quite a lot of time looking for you, but I don’t think I ever got close. I even went to see Remus at school, to see what he thought of our theory—”

“You did get close,” Sirius cut her off. “I saw you twice, in the spring. I was downwind of you both times so you wouldn’t have caught my scent.” He paused. “What did Remus think of your theory?”

She laughed, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “He was hacked off at me! Threw me out of his office and everything. Don’t think I’ve ever seen him that angry, and we haven’t spoken since.” She shrugged. “He’ll get over it eventually.”

Sirius smiled, remembering Remus’s note. “I think he already has.” He withdrew it from the pocket it was tucked into and handed it to her. Sirius watched her unfold it and smile as she read it. 

“He’s a love isn’t he, now that he knows I was right,” she smirked, handing the note back. “Wonder when I’ll get an apology.”

Caitlin sat back down on the opposite couch. “So that was our theory. And we were right! I’m just sorry we weren’t able to help catch Pettigrew and clear your name. Yet. Now that we know for sure he’s alive, the rest of the family can start looking for him, too.” 

Her expression was grim. The Callaghans were not just a large family, but a fiercely loyal one. The prominent members of the family were wealthy and influential at the highest echelons, but that didn’t mean they shunned their less fortunate cousins. Those family members were valued just as highly for their ties and insight into the seedier elements of the wizarding and muggle worlds, and well compensated for it. The result was a vast network of spies, essentially, that the heads of the family—Nana and Pop—could tap into and direct at their whim. If Wormtail was still in England or Ireland, they would find him. If he wasn’t, they’d know when he came back. Pop had already started sending owls before she left.

* * *

 

“Why don’t you take a shower?” Caitlin suggested. She’d already made a potion to fix his teeth. Sirius hadn’t realized how much his teeth had hurt, until they didn’t anymore. Rummaging through her handbag, she was yanking things out. “I have…some more…clothes…in here…” Her voice was muffled because her head was actually inside the bag. Everything she was looking for tangled in her arms, she led him to the bathroom. “Here’s some clean jeans”—she shoved a wad of denim at him—“and a shirt. And,” she paused, a small leather case in her hands. Cradling it, she gazed with unfocused eyes at it for a moment then held it out for him. “Here. There should be everything you need to shave in here.”

Sirius took the case gently, looking from it to her. “Why do you have a men’s shaving kit?” he asked curiously, pretty sure he already knew answer.

“It was my husband’s,” she said, inhaling slowly, trying to keep her voice emotionless. Her eyes betrayed her as they lingered over the case and made their way to meet his, sadness pooled in the blue depths and in her small smile. “He doesn’t need it anymore, you keep it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” She turned to look around the overly large bathroom. “Enjoy, yeah? And let me know if you need help with any of this,” waving her hand toward the shower. She had almost closed the door when she turned back. “Can I cut your hair?”

Sirius found the exercise quite amusing. She cut his hair to his shoulders, taking exceptional joy in doing so, all the while muttering darkly about the treatment of prisoners and lack of hygiene in “that foul place.” He took his time in the shower—the room didn’t have a proper bathtub— letting the hot water run over him, relishing the feeling of being clean, the scent of the soap, and the feeling of scrubbing the past twelve years of filth from him. Things he hadn’t had in so long he’d forgotten he missed them. It was luxurious.

Finished, he started laying out the shaving implements and caught his reflection. He hadn’t had much of an opportunity to look closely at himself in years. The sight of his own face in the mirror was startling. Face gaunt and lined around the eyes and mouth, sunken eyes, a bit of white in his black hair, body so lean it could be called emaciated. Merlin, he looked  _ old _ . When had that happened? 

He knew exactly  _ how  _ it had happened; the thought tasted bitter and his gut twisted with rage. Gripping the vanity counter he fought to control it, tried to stop reciting the never-ending list of fuck-ups and losses and betrayals, tried to replace that list with the new one he’d started four days ago. The list of victories. Harry knows the truth. Remus knows the truth, and Ron and Hermione. Dumbledore knows the truth. Donnie and Caitlin and their whole family know the truth. They’re on his side, helping him. They  _ know _ that he didn’t betray anyone, especially not James and Lily. They know  _ and they believe him _ . He’s here, in Nice, with Caitlin. Alive.

Slowly the rage subsided. Taking a deep breath, he began to trim the beard off his face. His hands were still shaking slightly but he managed not to cut himself as he scraped the last of the shaving cream away. It felt strange to be clean-shaven. It all felt strange. He didn’t want Caitlin to know how strange, though. She didn’t need to know, and he didn’t want her pity.  He’d spent his life hiding his pain from everyone. This was no different.

He stepped out of the bathroom, only a towel wrapped around his waist. “Ready to finish my makeover?” he grinned. Caitlin looked up, cocking an eyebrow in mild surprise at his appearance. Slowly she took him in–the thin, muscular frame, the poorly done tattoos on his chest and shoulder, and the clean-shaven face.

“Jaysus, you’re thin,” she murmured. There was no pity in her expression, just interested appraisal, and she wasn’t shy. Her eyes unabashedly took every inch of him in. 

For a moment, he thought he saw a spark of interest flash in them, but he couldn’t be sure. It had been a long time since a woman had looked at him that way.

“Sit down.” She gestured toward a chair and grabbed the scissors. “I ordered room service while you were in the shower. I’m not sure I got enough,” she teased.

As Caitlin finished his hair, she ran her hands through it and rested them on his shoulders. Sirius closed his eyes and dropped his cheek to one side, savoring the intimacy of her touch. It been so long since someone had touched his bare skin. A human someone. What the Dementors had done didn’t count. She gently brushed her thumb over his cheek and down his neck, then ran her hands over his shoulders and across the top of his back.

“All done. The handsome man I remember is back. Ladies beware!” He started slightly at her voice. It was soft, but he’d lost himself in her touch for a moment. His gut twisted again, this time with disappointment when she removed her hands. His skin was buzzing where they had been. “You should get dressed,” she said quietly.

Standing up, he turned to look at her. A soft smile graced her face. She had a beautiful mouth.  _ She _ was beautiful. Gray eyes met blue, and for the second time that day he was almost overcome by the urge to kiss her. There was only a chair between them, he was close enough to reach out and pull her to him...

A loud knocking came from the door and they both jumped. Caitlin’s wand was in her hand in an instant and she stared at the door, looking wary. “Get in the loo,” she hissed, voice barely audible. As he shut the door as quietly as possible, she called “Oui?”

“Service de chambre,” a muffled voice replied. Sirius heard her walk to the door and open it, chain still in place. His whole being was tense, ready to fight.

“Bonsoir,” came Caitliln’s voice through the door.

“Bonsoir,” someone replied. “Ton dîner, madame.” The door was unlocked and opened fully. He listened as a trolley was wheeled past the door. Fuck. They had left the chair out, his hair was on the floor. The staff would know there was someone else in the room.

“Merci beaucoup.” Caitlin’s voice came again. “Il n'est pas nécessaire que vous restiez. I can serve myself this evening.” She had dismissed them. There was a clink of dishes and furniture being rearranged.

“Je vous remercie,  _ Madame  _ Clark. Please leave the trolley in the hallway when you are finished, and let us know if there is anything else we can provide for you.”

“Of course,” she replied. “Merci beaucoup.”

One set of footsteps passed the bathroom door and the door to the room opened and closed. Sirius heard Caitlin moving around the room and walk to the door, bolting the lock.

“You can come out,” she said quietly at the bathroom door.

Having forgotten to do so during the room service delivery, he dressed quickly. A table for one had been set and a trolley laden with dishes stood next to it. All the evidence of his haircut had disappeared. With a quick wave of her wand, she replicated the place setting and chair on the opposite side of the table. “Le dîner, monsieur,” she giggled.

“Did they see anything?” he asked urgently.

“No, of course not. I took care of it before I opened the door.” Caitlin turned to the trolley. “Obviously I could only order for one. We’ll have to share, but I did get a lot of food. I hope it’s enough.” She started removing warming covers and placing food on both of their plates. “I’ve no idea what you like or wanted, so I got a full French meal. Told them I was feeling peckish and hadn’t had a proper meal since the last time I’d stayed here.”

The quantity of food appeared decadent to Sirius. There was french onion soup, steak frites, half of a baguette, a salad, and cheese plate uncovered, and there were several covered dishes remaining. A split bottle of wine stood on the table. He picked it up, turning it in his hands as if he’d never held one before. “That’s probably not a great idea, but it would have been weird if I didn’t order it,” she said. “And then he opened it before I could stop him.”

Before Caitlin could stop him, Sirius poured them both a glass. “You’re right, it’s probably a terrible idea,” he agreed. He grinned and held his glass up. “Cheers to bad ideas.”

“Slainte,” she laughed, clinking her glass with his. “Sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

He sat, and anxiety immediately swept over him. The table was formally set, with multiple pieces of cutlery and plates and glasses. Sirius stared at the setting in front of him, uncertain which fork to pick up or where to begin. The idea of a civilized meal was incredibly foreign after so long in Azkaban. Living as a dog in the Forbidden Forest hadn’t brought any of this back.

Caitlin looked up from pouring them both water, catching the helpless expression on his face. “I don’t know which fork to use, either. I’m not judging!” Sirius sat frozen for a few moments more, the smell of steak and onions filtering into his nose. “Here.” She passed him a white bowl by the small handles. “You eat the soup. I can’t maintain my model figure if I eat all this, and I’d rather eat pudding.”

It was kind of her. Sirius knew damn well that she could see him struggling, but each time she had gracefully nudged him in a direction without making him feel foolish. He picked up a spoon and began to eat. Since the hotel thought it was cooking for one the portions were small, but that was fine with Sirius. It had been so long since he had eaten proper meals that he couldn’t eat very much at once. They ate in silence for a while. Well, she was quiet. Sirius was thoroughly enjoying everything and unaware of the gusto in which he was doing so, until he noticed Caitlin trying to hide a smile behind her hand. “What?”

“Nothing!” she replied, her eyes wide with feigned innocence and still fighting a grin. “I’m glad you’re enjoying your meal.”

“Shut it.” He grinned back, tossing a piece of bread at her.

“Hey! No wasting food! You never know when we’ll get a full meal again!”

“I don’t think I can eat any more,” he said as he leaned back in the chair, fingering the wine glass. The normalcy of the meal had dampened his anxiety, and he felt full and very, very tired all of a sudden. They’d been up all of last night and all day, and constantly being on alert was exhausting. 

“Oooh, but there’s still pudding. I even got two so we didn’t have to share.” Taking the covers off two small dishes, she glanced at him. “I mean, if you don’t  _ want _ pudding, I think I can manage both of them…”

“I’ll have pudding,” he said quickly. He’d gotten a look at the éclair and mille-feuille she had just uncovered and eyed her, mock challenge written on his face. “How do we decide who gets which one?

* * *

 

They spent the rest of the evening planning for the next day. Sirius needed a new wardrobe, but they had to shop without him being seen or Caitlin arousing any suspicion. Shopping on her own was an option of course, but she realized quickly that Azkaban had not dampened Sirius’ opinions about his appearance and he was not going to simply accept things being handed to him. He wanted full decision-making authority over his clothes.

“What do you mean people don’t wear vests or velvet anymore!” he exclaimed, disbelieving.

She giggled. “They just don’t, Sirius! The only people that wear velvet now are women in cocktail dresses. Men definitely do not. And vests just sort of fell off. You know how fashion is, things come and go. Now come here and let me measure you so I know what size things to get.” A tailor’s tape had appeared in her hand. “Take your shirt and shoes off,” she ordered.

She began taking his measurements, running her hands lightly over his arms and back, down his legs, until she circled around in front of him to measure his chest. There she was, directly in front of him for the third time today. He looked down at her, taking in the details her profile as she carefully ran the tape across his chest. Focused on taking measurements, she didn’t notice him studying her fair skin, full lips, pert nose, and light smattering of freckles across her cheeks. Her long, wavy hair was a rich brown with subtle red highlights. He could smell her sweet, clean scent and feel the warmth of her body. Her hands were cool and soft and he had the sudden impulse to take them in his to warm them. He was pulled from his study of her by the brush of her fingers across the left side of his chest and his shoulder. She was inspecting his tattoos, running her fingers over the black ink, frowning at the number inked below his left shoulder. Unlike the other tattoos, this one radiated cold. He was accustomed to its presence now, but her cool hands registered the strip of ice. The number had warmed slightly beneath her touch. 

She realized what she was doing and jerked her hand away, taking a quick step backward. “Sorry,” she said, cheeks coloring slightly. 

He wanted to grab her hand and pull her back close, put her hand back on his chest, his shoulder, anywhere really, wrap his own arms around her and hold her to him. He didn’t move.

“Did you get all of those in Azkaban?” she asked, shifting awkwardly under his gaze.

“Yeah. Not much else to do.”

“What’s the number for?” she said, eyeing it warily. She reached out again, cautiously running a finger over it. “It’s cold.”

Sirius grimaced. “All the Dementor’s guests get them, a little souvenir to identify you by. They don’t have eyes, but somehow they read the ink.” She pressed her hand over the number, warming it slightly again.  

“They are beyond foul,” she breathed.

“Mmmm,” he agreed, distracted again by her proximity. He placed a hand on top of hers, gently pressing it to him. “You get used to it after a while.”

* * *

 

Caitlin lay on the couch a little while later—she insisted he take the bed—replaying the day in her mind. She was exhausted but couldn’t seem to settle down, her body churning with anxiety over whether the protective enchantments were enough or how many people might already know she was there and the coming day. She was still finding it hard to believe it had been this easy. Really, they had managed to pull this little trick off pretty well so far. It couldn’t continue, the Ministry had to have some lead or run in to some dumb luck and find something about where Sirius had disappeared to. She supposed it depended on the Auror assigned to the case. News from the family would be awfully helpful at this point–it’d been four full days and all they’d had was the note from Remus. Although maybe the Ministry knew and was watching the Callaghan’s mail...no. She stopped that thought from going any further. Not a chance. She couldn’t let herself fall down that rabbit hole of doubt. They would send word when there was word to send, otherwise no news was good news.

There hadn’t been a plan when she left, just Pop’s order to get out, so no one knew where they headed. She was fairly certain they had not been seen until today in the hotel, and she hadn’t gone out since checking in. There had been notably few stares in her direction in the lobby. She had purposely dressed down to deflect attention.  As long as the hotel staff behaved and put their guest’s privacy first––it was a lofty promise, but they had demonstrated their discretion during past visits–very few should even be aware of her presence in Nice so far. That could change dramatically tomorrow. It was a huge risk, what they had planned. Sirius would not be deterred from accompanying her out shopping and his eyes lit up so brightly when they were planning that she quickly quit trying to talk him out of it. Despite his claim that planning wasn’t his thing he was methodical and thorough, and it seemed to inject even more life into him. 

Sirius had fallen asleep almost immediately, she could hear his steady breathing across the room. They’s almost argued about the sleeping arrangements until she said, “You haven’t slept in a proper bed in twelve years! I slept in one five days ago. I think I can manage a night on the couch.” She could see him trying to find a way around this, a way to allow him be a gentleman (which was ridiculous in this particular situation, she thought), but he relented. It was sweet of him to try. She’d intended to reserve a room with two beds at least if the Grand Suite was occupied, but the short notice had left her without much choice. So here they were. She drifted off, thinking about the number tattooed on his chest.

* * *

 

_ The Shrieking Shack was shrinking in on him like some sort of sick funhouse. Sirius was desperate to find a way out of the bedroom. He could feel the room getting colder, see his breath. The boarded windows disappeared as ran from one to another. The door banged shut.  _

_ “You killed him Sirius! YOU KILLED HARRY!” James was screaming at him from the corner, cradling Harry’s lifeless body in his arms. _

_ “No!” Sirius shouted. “I didn’t, James, he’s alive!” But Harry’s body was in James’ arms, he could see the boy’s blank eyes. James buried his face in Harry’s neck, wailing. Sirius approached him slowly, hand reaching for his best friend’s shoulder. “James–” James jerked his head up, shifting strangely, elongating, letting Harry’s body fall to the floor. Sirius jumped back as the Dementor’s scabbed hands reached for him, wrenching the door open and running down the hall, bouncing from wall to wall, jumping the stairs two or three at a time.  _

_ He burst into the parlor, looking around wildly. There was a rustling and a moan from the corner. Sirius crept around the overturned furniture. A werewolf sprang up, advancing slowly, blood dripping from its jaws. Sirius could see the boy’s body on the floor behind the werewolf, a pool of blood spreading around him. “Harry! Harry, no!” The werewolf kept advancing, jaws pulled back into a grotesque smile. Sirius stumbled back, searching wildly for a way around it. _

_ The temperature dropped again, and what little light there was seemed to be sucked out of the room. He was trapped between the werewolf and the Dementor, unable to get to Harry. “No!” he cried. “No!” The room was spinning...he was falling...the Dementor was closing in on him, bending over him and pulling its hood down with its nasty, scabbed hands… _

_ “Sirius!” A woman’s voice cut through the darkness. “Sirius! Come on!”  _

_ He shifted, trying to push the Dementor away. “Run, Callaghan! Go!” he tried to yell, but the words wouldn’t come out. The whole room was shaking. _

“Sirius!” Caitlin knelt on the bed, shaking Sirius’s shoulders. “Sirius, wake up!” She’d heard him start moaning and knew he was dreaming, but tried not to intervene. When he started thrashing violently around the bed and yelling for Harry she couldn’t help herself. Manipulating his nightmare was not an option, not now, so she had to do it awake. “Sirius!” she said again, and he shot upright, arms flailing out towards her. Jumping back to avoid his fists, she managed to grab his arm and shake it again. “Sirius, it’s me, it’s Caitlin! You’re having a nightmare. Stop trying to hit me!” She ducked another swing. 

The voice finally registered in Sirius’s brain, and the room came in to focus. He wasn’t in the Shrieking Shack. There wasn’t a Dementor or a werewolf. Harry wasn’t dead. He was awake, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding. Callaghan was crouched next to him on the edge of the bed, one arm shielding her face and the other grasping his forearm. 

“Are you done?” she asked cautiously. 

“Don’t you know you’re not supposed to wake someone up out of a nightmare? You could’ve been hurt. Go back to bed.” It came out harsher than he intended. She pulled her arm away and went back to the couch without a word. He pulled the sheets up to his chin and rolled over, breathing deep. Nightmares were nothing new, but that scenario was. He wondered how many times he would have it.

He could hear Caitlin shifting around on the couch. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t really. His reaction had hurt more than she was willing to admit, even though she knew he was right.

“Come back.” The words came out before he could stop them.

“What?” She sat up on the couch, looking toward the bed.

“Come back,” he repeated, gesturing to the bed. “Over here.” Even in the dark he could see her puzzled expression. 

She hesitated for a moment, then got up and walked across the room. “Why?” she asked, standing next to the bed and looking down at him. 

Propping himself up on his elbows, Sirius exhaled. Really it was because he wanted her close, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. Keeping his tone neutral he replied, “We’re both grown ups. There’s no reason for you to sleep on the couch...Maybe you can ward off my nightmares.” 

_ You have no idea _ , she thought, climbing onto the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took far too long to finish! Chapter 3 will see this pair on to Greece, but it is not coming as easily as the first couple chapters. Stay tuned!


	3. Photograph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone, meet Cait.  
> Cait, meet the fandom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, as well as future chapters, contains references to a real band. Other than their names, music, and easily verifiable events (album releases, tours, deaths), the characterizations contained here are 100% fiction.

_Tuesday, June 14, 1994, morning_

Sirius woke up holding her hand. They were on distinct sides of the bed, but sometime during the night their hands had met and their fingers intertwined. He lay quiet and still so he wouldn’t wake her, savoring the unexpected closeness. Her breathing was soft and slow. He dozed briefly, only to wake again with the realization that he had not had another nightmare that night. Dementors, dead and angry James and Lily, his mother, or some wretched combination thereof were frequent visitors, coming every time he closed his eyes. Nightmares had been a part of his life since he was old enough to remember, but they were almost nightly since he went to Azkaban. Was it possible that she had warded them off? He pondered that idea, almost wishing it were true if it meant that she would stay close to him.

Lying in bed, near her, with the sun shining through the window, he felt warmer than he had felt in quite a long time. Azkaban was cold, not only because the Dementors sucked the life and heat out of everything. It’s location in the middle of the North Sea was bone-achingly damp, the sort of miserable damp that seeps in through your clothes and permeates your whole being, leaving you feeling like you’ll never be warm again. And it was windy. Endless, howling wind. He never, ever wanted to listen to the combination of the ceaseless wind and crashing waves ever again. The past year hadn’t been much better, sleeping in the Forbidden Forest or the Shrieking Shack. But here, lying in this bed listening to her soft breathing, a gentle breeze rustling the curtains, he was warm. The cold ache of loneliness he carried for all these years was beginning to...not fade, exactly, but dull around the edges. They had a plan, a destination. _They._ Not him alone. It was like he had an ally. Maybe even a friend.

Caitlin shifted next to him, and he reflexively tightened his grip on her hand. Her blue eyes flew open, taking in first their intertwined fingers and then his grey eyes.  Not ready to for their connection to be broken, he silently cursed his own reaction, but she didn’t pull away. They lie quiet and still, holding hands, for several minutes.

She had closed her eyes and started to drift off again when all of a sudden she vaulted out of bed, grabbing her wand. She stood next to the bed staring intently at the windows, wand raised, body tensed like a cat about to pounce. He had jumped up at her sudden movement, startled.

“What, Callaghan?” he hissed.

“Something’s testing the protective charms,” she said in a low voice. He transformed immediately, heart pounding. Cursing their stupidity, he realized they hadn’t discussed an escape plan. He didn’t want to leave without her, or be left behind. And he still had no idea how she’d react to a threat. Would she keep her wits about her? The shaggy black dog leapt over the bed and landed neatly next to her, hackles raised. They waited, human and canine bodies taut, ready to pounce on whatever was trying to get in.

A slight gust of ocean breeze blew the floor-to-ceiling curtains open, and with it tumbled a small grey owl. It flew a loop around the room and settled on the back of one of the couches, hooting at them expectantly. A letter was attached to its leg. They both stared at it momentarily, unmoving, waiting for the explosion.

“Jaysus god, Athena,” she exhaled, starting toward the owl. The dog darted ahead, blocking her path. He looked reproachfully over his shoulder at her, a silent admonishment for not being careful enough, and slowly approached the little owl. It watched him patiently as he sniffed at it and the letter. Apparently satisfied, he walked back to Caitlin and sat down at her feet, never taking his eyes off of it.

The owl hooted again, gazing at Caitlin. She walked over to it and removed the letter from its leg, scratching its head affectionately and plopping down on the couch. “What did you bring us, Athena? News?” She unrolled the letter, scanning it quickly. “Oh lovely, Donnie is such a good mum…” she trailed off.

“What?” Sirius had transformed back to his human form and sat on the opposite couch.

“He’s sent me a letter to remind me I have a show in St. Petersburg next week. Like I need reminding,” she said with mild sarcasm, continuing to read. Her eyes widened. “What?...” she hissed, under her breath. “This is mad...He can’t be serious...Oh bloody hell...” One hand flew to her forehead.

“What’s the problem?”

Her eyes were wide in disbelief. “He wants me to bring you,” she said slowly. “To the actual show. He thinks it will be fine because he, Connor, Danny, and Remus will all be there.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Sirius’ brain was spinning into overdrive. A show? What did she mean? Donnie had been a soundman for a muggle rock band in the 1970s and 80s. Was he still? Caitlin hadn’t said anything about what he did now, and Sirius hadn’t thought to ask. Did she mean a rock concert? Which sounded like a absolute blast, he loved going to concerts. And Remus would be there. That would be excellent, they might even get a chance to talk privately and he could tell Sirius what happened that night after he left Hogwarts. His stomach flipped with anticipation. Callaghan still looked like she’d seen a ghost however, and he schooled his response as best he could.

“And you don’t think I should go.” His voice was flat. She flinched at how dead it sounded.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to go. It would be super fun. It’s just a bit dodgy, yeah?” She stood up and started pacing the room. “I mean, what if we get ambushed? What if some stupid Auror shows up? Then our game’s up, they know that I’m with you—which whatever, that’s fine—” she waved that implication away like swatting a bug off, “but also that Donnie and Remus and everyone knows I’m with you and _they’ll_ be targets. And the collateral damage could be awful with all those muggles around. What if we get caught? I’m supposed to be keeping you _alive_ , for fucks sake. We’d need a rock solid plan...” She trailed off, dropping her face in her hands. “Jaysus, he’s _such_ a tosser,” she said into them, letter hanging between her fingers. Apprehension was clear on her face when she looked up. “What do you think?”

“Let me see the letter.” She handed it to him and flopped back onto the couch. Sirius read over the details of the show, which was indeed a rock concert—a big one, it seemed. The details of Donnie’s plan were buried inside the letter in case it was intercepted. There was a mischievous gleam in his eye when he looked up, and a smile teasing around his mouth. “I think Donnie has it covered. Let’s do it.”

She stared at him for a moment. Sighing heavily, she stood up. “Let’s go shopping first. You need something to wear.”

* * *

 

Shopping under a Disillusionment Charm was a nuisance, but miraculously it had gone off without a hitch. It took Caitlin some finesse to keep the sales people busy enough that Sirius could shop unnoticed. By the time they finished, they’d mastered the art of sharing a dressing room, Caitlin making a big show of trying things on to cover Sirius doing the same while the associates were fussing over her. The sales associates were also impressed by her generosity, spending so much on her “cousin’s” wardrobe when he wasn’t even there. Getting accustomed to the shift in styles had taken a few tries, but Sirius had proved himself an adept shopping partner once he got started and now had current wardrobe should he ever be seen by another human again.

They returned to the hotel exhausted and hungry. She let him choose dinner this time, noting what he picked. If she was going to be with him for a while she might as well pay attention to what he liked. She had some idea, of course, but this would cover any slip-ups. They discussed the rest of Donnie’s letter over dinner, since they hadn’t taken the time to do so before shopping. No one was following them, nor did the Ministry have any idea where Sirius had gone once he’d escaped Hogwarts.This news came as an immense relief for both of them. Another welcome bit was that John Dawlish had been assigned as one of the Aurors on Sirius’ case.

“Dawlish couldn’t catch a cold,” Caitlin snorted. “Kate says he’s totally inept.”

Kate. That reminded Sirius of his question the first night at the barn. “She’s Donnie’s mum, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

Right. He remembered her. She was an Auror. Just a beautiful as all the other Callaghan women, all her boys friends were in love with, and terrified of, her. “Your mum’s sister too, isn’t she?”

“Mmmmhm,” she replied through her mouthful. “I lived with her after my parents were...you know.”

There it was again, her parents. Sirius watched her concentrating on her plate, pushing the food around. He could see her holding breath, bracing for the follow up question. But he didn’t ask. “Who are Connor and Danny?”

Her shoulders dropped in relief. “Connor is Donnie’s brother, the youngest of that lot. He’s the same age as me. Danny is my Uncle Joe’s youngest, a year younger than us.” Kate had four children—Donnie, Siobhan, Seamus, and Connor. And Caitlin, if you asked Kate, made five. Because she didn’t give a damn that Patrick and Maeve had emancipated Caitlin when they died, she was a twelve-year-old little girl and Kate wasn’t abandoning her youngest niece and favorite sister’s only child, no matter how wild and stubborn she could be. “They’re good mates, Danny and Connor. We’ve pretty much been a unit since we were born.” Sirius vaguely remembered them as kids, Caitlin and the two boys always at her heels. She was always surrounded by boys—Siobhan was closer to Donnie’s age, Aoife was in the middle somewhere, and then there was a whole slew of boys. Donnie was...how much older than Caitlin?

“How old are you?” he asked impulsively. It was something that had been nagging at him since that first morning in the woods, and he was hungry for more information about her.

“Twenty five,” she replied, finally looking up at him. “Why?”

“Curious. I couldn’t quite remember how old you were when I...you know,” he grinned. It was a gentle jibe. “So you’re about ten years younger than Donnie and I. And awfully young to be widowed.”

That caught her slightly off-guard, her fork stopping midway between her plate and her mouth. It shouldn’t have, everyone got around to asking the same question one way or another. She put her fork down and contemplated him for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose so,” she shrugged, looking back down at her plate. “I was young for all of it.”

“Who was he?” The struggle how to answer the question flickered across her face. Clearly it was still a difficult subject, judging by her reaction over the shaving kit yesterday. She pushed the food around on her plate some more, stalling a bit.

“Do you remember the muggle rock band that Donnie was involved with?”

Sirius did. They were fun, a bunch of scrawny kids from Sheffield who liked to have a pint and a laugh. He, James, Lily, Marlene, Remus, and occasionally Peter would go to their shows in muggle bars to blow off some steam during the war. Donnie had run their sound—he’d always had a fascination with muggle music and electronics. They had garnered quite a following by the end of the war and Donnie had traveled with them all over Europe and America, which probably helped keep him alive. He always liked to be in the thick of things, and the Death Eaters would’ve loved to make an example of a shameless muggle lover like him. “Yeah,” he answered. “Is he still?”

“Yeah, still running sound and is basically their road manager. He’s moved into the studio, too, doing some production. The band got a lot bigger after you went to Azkaban. They’ve been really successful. You remember the guitar player, Steve?”

Sirius thought for a moment. “The short one, with the dark hair?”

“No, the other one, the blond. That’s Steve.”

He narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. He didn’t remember a blond guitarist. “Or a redhead, maybe?” she mused, brows furrowed. “I don’t remember when he started bleaching his hair.”

Sirius burst into his bark of a laugh. “What?” she cried, a little startled. It was nice to see him laugh properly, but she wasn’t quite sure what was so funny.

“Sorry!” he said, still chuckling. From what Sirius remembered, Steve was a shy, lanky kid with a bad seventies haircut and bangs combed over his eyes. Killer guitar player, though. “Bloody hell, you married that scrawny little bugger?”

She laughed. “He got better looking as he got older,” she said, just a touch protectively.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, still smiling. “But he was as old as Donnie and I. How’d you end up married to him?”

Caitlin sighed. She hated this question. It always made her feel so judged. Steve _was_ significantly older than she was, and she was really young when they met. He didn’t know that, of course, or at least he wasn’t certain. She’d lied about her age since she started modeling at thirteen, just to make the industry muggles happy. Only people that actually knew her, knew how old she really was. But it still cast them—him, particularly—in a bit of a negative light.

“I was sixteen when I met him. I had a couple of modeling jobs that coincided with a summer tour they were doing, and Kate decided I needed a minder. She sent me along with Donnie.” That had been ridiculous on Kate’s part. Donnie had a job to do and was in no position to pay much attention to what she was doing, and it was a rock tour for fuck’s sake. “The plan was I’d help Donnie to earn my keep, and he would make sure that I was taken care of on shoots. So I got to go on tour.” She smirked, and Sirius knew without explanation that her aunt’s plan failed spectacularly. “Going on tour was pretty exciting, though,” she continued, fiddling with her fork. “Their last album had been done really well. The band was trying to work through some writer’s block, and their management decided a short summer tour would be helpful. It was a good vibe since there wasn’t much riding on it. I got to be pretty friendly with everyone.”

And then there was Steve. She knew who he was, of course, but hadn’t ever met him in person. Cait had fancied him from the moment she laid eyes on him. The electricity when they were in the same space was tangible to everyone within a five-kilometer radius. “I walked into their dressing room one afternoon early on before soundcheck, and Steve was tooling around on his guitar. He had a picture, you know, cut out from a magazine, taped on the mirror.”

* * *

 

_Summer, 1985_

“Who’s that?” Cait asked, peering at the photo. He’d cut out a photo of _her_. It had to be at least a year old, worn and tattered around the edges.

“Kate O’Callaghan,” Steve replied, cheeks coloring a touch. He shook his hair over his face to hide it. O’Callaghan is the family’s stage name, they all use it when they’re working in the muggle world. You’d think he would have known that from Donnie, put two and two together, but who know if he even knew why she was there at that point.

“Yeah? You like her?”

“Yeah...well, she’s a looker, isn’t she?” he mumbled.

“Huh. She likes guitar players. Maybe I can introduce you,” Cait said, trying to hide her smile. Rick and Donnie had walked in behind her and caught on to what they were talking about. Donnie snorted.

“You know her?” Steve was interested now, brushing his hair out of his eyes to look at her, not paying any attention to the other two. Rick rolled his eyes behind him. The tour had just started and no one was really interested in Donnie’s little cousin he was stuck babysitting, so no one knew she was a model. Most are so done up on shoots people don’t always recognize them on the street. Rick and Cait had hit it off right away though—they were pretty close in age—and he figured it out pretty quick.

“Yeah, pretty well. Want me to see if she’d be interested?”

Steve’s eyes lit up, but he was trying to play it cool, pretending he was tooling with the guitar. “Sure. You know, if she’s around sometime.”

“Right,” Cait said, flashing him a wide smile and turning to go. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Donnie could barely contain himself, trying not to laugh.

“Cheers,” Steve called as she walked out.

* * *

 

“A couple days later Donnie dropped me at a photoshoot, and when he came back to get me Steve was with him. He about died,” Cait giggled, and even Sirius had to laugh. That would be typical of Donnie to set someone up like that. He wasn’t quite at the same pranking level as the Marauders, but he loved taking the mickey. Sirius could see her relax into the story. His curiosity about her had grown exponentially over the past five days so he let her talk, soaking in the information. “Even better, it was a bathing suit shoot! Not far from here, actually, so of course I was topless. And completely _mortified_ that the bloody rock star I fancied showed up.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks, a little embarrassed at the memory. “When I finished my shots the wardrobe runner was nowhere to be found. I’m pretty sure Donnie paid her to make herself scarce, just to watch Steve squirm.” Sirius silently agreed with this, his amusement evident in the corners of his mouth lifting and grey eyes twinkling. It was definitely something Donnie would do.

“I’m not terribly self-conscious since I’ve had to be dressed and posed and prodded with a zillion people around, but I was still trying to cover myself”—she gestured to her chest—”with my arms. Steve tried to be a gentleman and put his arms around me till someone could find me a robe. There I was, the girl from the photo on his dressing room mirror, wrapped in his arms, practically naked. When I finally got a robe I had to stand in front of _him_ for a few minutes.” She knew precisely how attractive Steve found her that day.

“The tour went to Italy after that. Donnie offered me up as a backing singer one night when someone wasn’t feeling well, and I ended up singing backup for the rest of the tour. It was so fun to be on stage. Steve could be pretty reserved off-stage, but once he got up there...” She smiled. “He was a whole different person. He would jump up on the riser and sing with me, play to me. It was so much fun.” Her face had lit up at that memory. Photograph had quickly became a very flirtatious running joke. “He finally asked me out in Naples, and that was it. Together forever.”

It hadn’t been that simple, of course. She had gone back to school for two more years and could only see him on holidays. That first Christmas holiday was when they decided it was serious. Steve had invited her to spend the week after Christmas at his house in London. Kate and her grandparents had reservations about this of course, but Donnie came through for her in the end, talking the justifiably worried grown-ups off the ledge.

* * *

 

_Christmas holidays, 1985_

“Steve’s a good bloke,” Donnie said, “and I’ll be in London working if there’s a problem.”

Kate sighed. “Alright, alright. But you have to take her and make sure everything’s sorted, that there’s no funny business going on. I don’t want some bloody tosser taking advantage of her.”

Donnie looked slightly offended. “I’ve known Steve for years, Mum. I wouldn’t have let her get involved in the first place if I wasn’t sure he was going to do right by her. Besides,” crossing his arms with a resigned look on his face, ‘she’s going to go anyway, no matter what we say.”

His mum was a formidable woman and Cait loved her, but Cait had also gone a bit off the rails after her parents were killed. His mother was a highly respected Auror and not accustomed to being challenged by anyone, much less her children. Cait, wild and free like her mother, had tested every ounce of Kate’s patience and they’d butted heads repeatedly when Cait was home. Donnie had reservations about his baby cousin—his baby sister, really—getting involved with someone so much older, someone just as off the rails as she was. But he knew Steve, knew he was a decent bloke. They seemed to have a calming effect on each other, like they softened each others edges out. Donnie liked them together.

Kate sighed again and turned away, looking slightly defeated. “I know. But that doesn’t make me worry any less.”

Donnie took Cait to London by side-along apparition and walked her to Steve’s front door in Chelsea, as he’d promised his mum, but he didn’t stay. It was all a bit awkward, really. There was some sort of non-verbal exchange between the two men, pointed looks and embarrassed shuffling. “You’ve my phone number, yeah?” Donnie asked her for the hundredth time.

Cait bit back a sigh, but couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “Yes, D. I have your phone number.” She couldn’t hide the impatience in her voice, either. “And the address of the studio. And I recall where _my_ house is.” Her parents had kept a house in London, even though they spent most of their time in Godric’s Hollow by the time she was old enough to remember. Both places were hers now. Her cousins used the house in London as a crash pad mostly, but she was already thinking she’d kick everyone out and live there herself when she was done with school. “Cheers.” She gave him a very pointed “get out now” look.

“Yeah, well, see you later then.” He gave Steve an overly hard clap on the shoulder. “Cheers, mate,” and walked back to the street.

“Cheers,” Steve called after him. Cait was still hovering in the doorway, excitement and apprehension roiling in her belly. “Come on in.” Steve grabbed her things and led her upstairs to show her around, opening a door in to a bright and comfortable, but clearly unused, bedroom. Not his bedroom.

“This one’s all yours,” he said. Cait’s eyebrows shot up her forehead in surprise. She’d expected to share his room. He had invited her for the week and they were...something, after all, but he hadn’t even attempted to kiss her yet. Her stomach clenched. Had she read too much into his invitation? She tried to hide her dismay, but must’ve done a bad job of it. “I just thought you’d be more comfortable, having a bit of space to yourself,” he said, flushing.

The realization that he was trying to be sweet swept over her, and she turned to smile up at him, recovering quickly. “It’s lovely, cheers.” Their eyes met and he smiled shyly back, their initial discomfort draining away. He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers.

“Missed you,” he murmured, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. Cait slipped her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his long blonde hair, and kissed him back.  

*****

She’d turned in earlier than him that first night. She was just coming off the chaos that was Christmas with her family, and an intense first half of the school year, and he was a bit of night owl. They’d planned to stay low-key for the week. Both of them were relatively famous—he more than her—and any rock star and model out together were sure to attract some attention. Their relationship was still casual and anything they did was sure to be caught by the London press. They weren’t really ready for that, so they ordered take-away and played music and caught up, mostly enjoying being alone together.

She had to be careful in his muggle house not to overreact or do anything too suspect. Going on tour and staying in muggle hotels had been her first proper foray into how muggles managed—Steve had even taught her to use a phone in Italy, under the pretense that she didn’t know how to make a call in another country (that was also the day she learned he carried that magazine photo of her in his wallet)—but going from Hogwarts to home to his house was a hard transition without Donnie there to smooth over her mistakes. By the end of the night, she was exhausted.

She woke up in the bright bedroom the next morning, sunlight peeking in through the curtains, with Steve’s arm wrapped snugly around her waist. He was sound asleep on top of the covers, fully dressed. It was remarkably comfortable, the weight of his arm and his warmth, but she was also trapped under the covers. Carefully she tried to loosen the sheets, but her shifting brought him around.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

“Morning,” she replied, finally finding a comfortable spot curled up with her head on his shoulder. They lay there quietly for a bit. She wasn’t sure if he’d fallen back asleep, and didn’t want to wake him again, until she looked up and found his blue eyes staring back at her. “Where did you come from?” she asked quietly.

“Oh,” he said, looking a little hurt. “Sorry, I can go if you want.” He moved to get up, cheeks coloring again. Merlin, he got flustered easily.

“No! Don’t go. I just…” It was her turn to be flustered. “Well, I dunno, I don’t remember you coming in and I didn’t think you were going to sleep with me and here you are and...here, get in,” she rambled, trying to lift the covers for him. “I just wondered how you ended up here,” she finished lamely.

“I was coming up to bed and I could hear you thrashing about, moaning and such. Figured you were having a nightmare or something so I came in.”

Fuck, she thought. Her nightmares were less frequent now, infrequent enough that she hadn’t worried about having them here. She wondered how much he’d heard.

“I was afraid to wake you,” he continued, “but you settled a bit when I came in so I laid down. I didn’t really mean to stay...I must’ve fallen asleep.” He slipped under the covers as he spoke, and she snuggled back up to him.

The bright bedroom was lovely to keep her things and read in the rest of the week, but his bed was much more comfortable.

*****

Steve had started teaching her to play guitar that first night, pleasantly surprised at how quickly she picked it up. Classically trained, he turned out to be a pretty good teacher, to his own surprise. The third morning Steve woke up alone. He found Cait downstairs in his back room overlooking the garden, practicing what he’d taught her the night before on a beat up acoustic guitar. It was his favorite acoustic and suited her perfectly. She was wearing one of his too-large t-shirts with the sleeves cut off down to her waist, and a pretty blue lace bra and panties from one of her last lingerie shoots. He couldn’t remember how he knew that.

It hadn’t taken long for them to get very comfortable sharing space. He’d become protective of his space over the past several years as the band blew up and their fame, individually and together, grew.  Most of the birds he met wanted something from him, whether it was money or fame or an introduction to the next famous bloke. Cait already had those things. She just wanted to be with him. It was so easy, she just...fit. Leaning against the doorframe, the realization that he loved having her there, in his space, settled over him.

Steve sat down behind her on the couch so she was between his legs, adjusting her finger placement on the frets as necessary and offering quiet encouragement. He was really pleased by how she was progressing. His hands rested on her bare thighs when he wasn’t helping her play, thumbs absently stroking her legs while his chin rested on her shoulder.

Cait stopped playing and leaned back into him, sighing contentedly. She was so focused on learning that bit she hadn’t realized that he was only wearing a pair of jeans, and the warmth of his exposed skin on hers was tantalizing. As they talked softly, he began dropping kisses on her shoulder, moving up her neck to her ear, sending shivers down her spine. He took the guitar out of her hands and laid it on couch. Sliding his hands into her shirt, he kept kissing her neck, moving gently. Pulling the lace of her bra down, he rolled her nipples lightly between his fingers, eliciting a soft moan. It was music to his ears, better than any guitar. One hand slid lower, grazing the lace of her panties. Her legs opened in permission. She arched back towards him, turning her face so her lips met his as one hand cupped her breast and the other slid into her panties, teasing his fingers along her wetness. She moaned again, pressing harder against him.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered, eyes blazing with desire. He turned her around to face him on his lap and pulled her shirt over her head. Feeling all of his length pressed against her, she rolled her hips against him, making him hiss with pleasure.

Callused fingers caressing her sides, he pushed her back slightly, taking in the sight of her. “You’re fucking beautiful,” he murmured. He pulled her in and kissed her again, squeezing her breasts together, trailing open-mouthed kisses down to them. Her hands fumbled for his zipper, desperate to feel him in her hand. She was pleasantly surprised by what she found, stroking him until he rewarded her with a moan of his own.

She’d expected it to hurt, to be rushed like it was with the first boy, but this was much different. He made love to her, savoring her, gently guiding her through it when she felt clumsy and unsure, making sure she enjoyed it too. They kissed and licked and touched each other’s bodies, each pushing the other to the edge. He made her entire body sing. She was surprised when her climax came, pleased how that pushed him over the edge too. They lingered on the couch long after it was over, Steve holding her close, littering kisses across her face and shoulders. She felt safe, loved, for the first time in four years.

*****

They made love several more times that day, and the next. Somewhere in between the haze of new sex they found themselves in his kitchen, in various states of dressed, seated on opposite sides of the counter.

“Can I ask you something?” The look on his face was a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

“Of course,” she replied.

Steve eyed her for a moment, and then looked down at the unlit cigarette pinched between his fingers. “I’m not sure I really want to know the answer to this, but…” She knew what he was going to say before he said it. “How old are you?” She took a deep breath, bracing herself to repeat the well-worn lie. He beat her to it. “Like, really, how old. I know everyone thinks you’re nineteen,” he continued, “but you’re not.” It was a statement rather than an accusation, and she knew she couldn’t lie to him. Didn't want to lie to him. He already knew the answer, she was aware by the way he was watching her.

She exhaled and looked at the counter, twisting her fingers. She did not want this to end. Not like this, not after how lovely the past four days had been. Christmas had been her favorite holiday before the Death Eaters ruined it. This year had been different, with him. This week had been something nice to look forward to. It gave her hope that Christmas wouldn’t be shite forever.

She could feel the tears starting to prickle at the corners of her eyes. _Damn it_ , she thought. She did not want to cry, either. Then all he would see was a broken little girl. No man was interested in that. She took another deep breath, steadying herself. Looking back up at him across the counter, she forced herself to meet his eyes, a slightly defiant tilt to her head. “Sixteen.”

“Fuck.” He lit the cigarette and, taking a long drag, turned pulled two bottles of lager out of the fridge behind him. Passing her one, he exhaled the smoke through his nose. Clearly he wasn’t concerned with her being of legal drinking age. “When’s your birthday?” he asked around the cigarette now hanging off his lip.

“February,” she said, picking at the label on the bottle. She was gearing herself up to tell him she’d go, trying to figure out how to call Donnie and manage to salvage some dignity, before he could tell her to.

“February what?”

“Ninth.” She looked up, bemused. “Why?”

He grinned, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and leaning forward over the counter toward her. “I can’t make sure your present gets there on time if I don’t know when it is, can I?” he asked as his lips grazed hers.

Cait pulled back and stared at him, letting his words sink in. “You’re not mad?” came out of her mouth. _You’re not going to ditch me?_ shot through her brain, as fast as the adrenaline now shooting through her body, a mixture of fear and relief.

“Love, I knew you weren’t nineteen before we even made it out of Paris last summer. I just figured it was better to ask you and know for sure before I have to cover for you.”

Cait beamed when that beat up acoustic was gently dropped onto the Gryffindor table the morning of her seventeenth birthday.

* * *

 

“So you fell madly in love with a rock star.”

Cait grinned. “Like only a sixteen year old girl can,” she agreed. “He pretty much raised me after that, in a weird way. Took care of me. Don’t tell that to Kate though!”

Sirius suspected he did much more than take care of her. He knew she carried deep wounds, wounds that cut deep across her soul. Wounds he understood all too well. “Then what happened?”

“That was that, pretty much. There were ups and downs, naturally. The band had finally released the record they’d been working on the summer after I finished at Hogwarts, and it totally blew up. It was insane. The tour started that fall. We broke up for about six weeks at the end of the year, but were back together by my birthday.”

“Did you go out on that tour too?”

“Yeah, when I could. I was working too, so I joined them between jobs. Steve and I managed to write enough material for my album and get it recorded while we were on the road.”

“You have an album?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I do,” she said. “Two, actually. Why such a tone of surprise?”

“Dunno,” he said, grinning. “I guess you haven’t mentioned it in the whole, what? Five days we’ve known each other?”

She laughed. “We haven’t had a lot of time to talk, have we?”

“Not really,” he chuckled. It rumbled out low from somewhere deep in his chest, like a growl. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your story. Continue, please.” He still wasn’t ready for her to stop talking.

“The Ministry forced us to get married when I was nineteen. A couple of rogue Aurors broke into Steve’s house during a tour break and hauled us out of bed. They threatened to obliviate him to smithereens—”

“ _What?_ ” Sirius gasped, outraged. “Why?”

“Honestly, I think one of them fancied me, as stupid as that sounds. They didn’t have any legal reason to bother us. I knew him from school. He’d asked me out once and I shot him down, never let it go. One of those pure-blood fanatics, too. I managed to stall them and they hauled us into the Ministry. Can you imagine, bringing a muggle in there?” She shook her head at the memory.

“I thought Mad-Eye was going to eat that Auror for breakfast when he got to the interrogation room,” she snickered. “It’s funny now, but it wasn’t _at all_ funny then. Fortunately, Pop was right behind him. The Ministry’s solution, now that those two tossers had brought a muggle inside, was to force us to get married. Part of the reason they tolerated it, since it was their idea. I guess Steve was going to ask me anyway, so Pop married us on the spot. Terribly romantic,” she finished, rolling her eyes. It was all sort of awful, really, but it worked out alright.

* * *

 

_May, 1988_

It was still barely eight o’clock in the morning when they got back. She’d gotten permission to bring Steve home by side-along apparition, arriving in the alley just down the street from the house. “Hold my hand and don’t let go,” she’d said. His feet hit the ground hard and he stumbled, falling a few steps forward. “Holy shit,” he breathed, looking back at her with wide eyes.

She smiled. “Yeah.”

He looked up at her, hands on his knees. “You can just...do that? Like, whenever?”

“Yeah.” She took his hand again, pulling him up. “Let’s go home.”

He followed her down the alley toward the street. “That’s bloody brilliant, you know. Can we do that all the time?”

She smiled at him. He’d known she was a witch since she was seventeen, when Donnie had brought him home for Easter. She hadn’t known he was coming, was surprised to see him when she stepped out of the fireplace. Typically the muggles that married into the family weren’t told about magic until the wedding was over. The Callaghan elders had modified a coughing hex to prevent their muggle family from revealing anything to the non-magical world, which they placed on any newlywed muggle members. It wasn’t legal exactly, but the Ministry played along. Nana had placed it on Steve then, but still Cait had refrained from using a lot of magic around him. “I don’t think I’m supposed to do that with you unless your life is in danger. They gave us permission before we left just now, just to go home.” And so he wouldn’t know where the Ministry was. The Aurors had used an obscuro hex to blindfold Steve before they hauled them in.

There was no way they were going back to bed, not after that clusterfuck. They’d made love in the shower and were having a cuppa when he looked at her from across the room and said, “We should get you a ring.”

Momentarily confused, she looked up at him. “What?” It hadn’t really sunk in that they had just gotten married.

“A ring. You’re my wife.” Steve smiled as he said it, liking the way it sounded coming out of his mouth. She liked it too, he could tell. “I really was going to ask you, you know.” He walked across the room to her and pulled her up out of the kitchen chair, embracing the woman he’d just married. _Married_. Fuck.

“I love you, Mrs. Clark,” he teased, grinning from ear to ear. He knew she’d never take his name, it wasn’t what her family did.

She arched an eyebrow at him, a smile teasing around her mouth. “I love you too, _Mr. Callaghan_.”

*****

It was so early when they got to the jeweler, they were the only ones in the shop. Steve had pulled the manager aside the moment they’d arrived, hoping to ensure some privacy, at least for the immediate future. It was a high-end shop accustomed to celebrity clients and assured him it wouldn’t be an issue. It was why he’d chosen the place, but he wanted to be sure. Their news didn’t need to get out until they wanted it to.

They chose his ring pretty quickly, just a simple band. He silently watched her look over the selections the staff brought out for her. They kept trying to foist big, expensive, flashy pieces on her, things she would never wear. He’d gotten bored and wandered off,  absently gazing out the front window when she called, “Steve.”

He turned to see her beaming at him from halfway across the shop. “This one,” she said. Her face was lit up brighter than any diamond. He crossed the space between them, half-eager to see what she’d picked, and half-dreading how much it was going to cost.

He shouldn’t have worried. She held out her hand for him to see. On her ring finger was a delicate circle of diamonds, an eternity band he thought he’d heard the jeweler call it. The thin band sparkled brightly on her finger. In that moment, he felt his chest fill with love and gratitude for the woman standing in front of him. He could have— _would_ have—bought her any ring in the shop, any ring she wanted, and yet she chose this tiny little ring. It was sweet and clean, like her.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Are you sure that’s all you want?” he asked, holding her hand up to examine the ring. “You don’t want something else to go with it?”

“Nope,” she answered, still beaming. “This is perfect.” He pressed her ring finger to his mouth. It _was_ perfect.

Back in the car she said, “What about your parents? Will they be upset? Do we need to have a regular wedding?”

He had been thinking about that in the shop while he was waiting for her. “I think,” he said slowly, “that maybe we could just go to the courthouse in Sheffield. Have a civil ceremony they could come to.” He looked at her with a shit eating grin. “Let’s drive up today. Let’s just do it.”

“Alright. Let’s go,” she grinned back. Her brow furrowed in the next moment. “Do we need a witness or something?”

“I’ll call Phil, if that’s alright with you. He and Jackie can come with us.”

They had a little ceremony at the courthouse, the last appointment of the day, both in jeans and leather jackets. Steve’s parents, Phil and Jackie, and her grandparents were the only other people there.

*****

They didn’t know how to tell their friends.

They’d never talked about getting married before. The band was gearing up to go back on tour, so Cait had organized a dinner at her and Steve’s favorite restaurant. They’d reserved a private room with a long, narrow table and arranged the menu, just to keep it simple. Fortunately this was not uncommon, since a group like that would attract too much attention and be a nuisance for the staff out in the main dining room. Everyone had had a cocktail (or two) and were just sitting down when the head waiter came bustling in. “Mrs. Clark,” he said breathlessly. He was a bit dramatic, really. “Would you like us to serve the champagne now?”

Distracted by her friends, she didn’t register how he’d addressed her. “What? Oh. Yes, please.” Several of the staff started opening bottles and filling glasses immediately. She turned back to her conversation and had just opened her mouth to carry on when Joe, sitting two people down, called, “What did he just call you? _Mrs._ Clark? When’d you get a missus, Steve?” He was just taking the mickey, but Cait froze. She felt the blush start to creep over her cheeks and looked over at Steve, who was gazing at her across the table with his head tilted to one side and a knowing smile spreading across his face.

“Yeah, well…” Steve said. The entire table fell silent, almost on cue. Phil was leaning back in his chair, grinning like a Cheshire cat while he watched them squirm. They’d sworn him to secrecy on the drive to Sheffield. Cait didn’t know what to say, she just looked at Steve, waiting for him to answer. Steve stretched his right arm across the table, palm of his hand facing up, and she slipped her left in to his. Her little circle of diamonds sparkled in the light as he lifted her hand to his mouth.

There was a collective gasp as the girls noticed her ring, and a murmur rose around the table.

“ _What_?” someone said.

“You did _not_!” came someone else’s voice.

“Bloody _hell_.” That was Joe again.

Steve just smiled, still pressing her hand to his mouth.

“Oh, they did,” came Phil’s smirking voice.

Steve stood and pulled her up to the head of the table. “Yeah, we did. It was a bit of a spontaneous thing.” He grinned down at her, eyebrow cocked. “So.” He handed Cait her champagne glass, then lifted his. Looking around at their friends, who were all still looking a bit stunned, he tilted his glass. “Cheers, yeah?”

The table erupted into cheers. Shouts of “congratulations!” and “cheers!” mixed with “holy fuck, mate!” as everyone stood and clapped. Steve wrapped one arm tightly around Cait’s waist and kissed her, lifting her into the air. She wrapped one arm around his neck, trying not to spill her champagne on either of them. Someone lifted the glass from her hand and she wrapped her other arm and her legs around Steve as he spun them around, laughing and kissing her.

The poor head waiter was still standing in the corner looking highly distressed. Once the tumult had died down, he stepped forward. “I’m… I’m...I’m so sorry. I didn’t..uh...well, I didn’t realize,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to give anything away.”

They both turned to look at him, smiling. “Don’t worry, mate,” Steve said. “We’re not fussed.”

“Yeah,” Cait agreed. Looking back up at Steve, she said, “I think that worked out brilliantly.”

* * *

 

Cait paused in her story and frowned, looking back down at her plate. “He died right before I turned twenty two.”

“What happened?”

She sighed heavily, still not looking at him. “Steve had this vision of what a rock star should be, you know? What he thought his idols were. They were all portrayed as these wild partiers, and some of them really were, so that’s what he thought he had to be. And he was so shy, the booze helped him deal with being the center of attention, numbed the anxiety.”

“I dunno when he started drinking,” she shrugged. “Probably pretty young. He was a full-blown alcoholic by the time we got married, I just didn’t know it. It got bad on that tour—they were on the road for _so_ long—and after it ended he didn’t really know what to do with himself. There wasn’t any structure anymore, no one to tell him what to do and when to do it—”

“What about you?” Sirius said. “Didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I tried, I guess, but that wasn’t really our dynamic. He was always in charge, and I didn’t really know any better.” She shrugged again. “So he just kept partying. By the time they started working on the next album—it didn’t take long, they were always bloody working—he’d gone past the point of no return. We—” she stopped and raised a finger. “They, really,” she corrected, “I didn’t have any idea what I was doing. The band forced him into rehab. It lasted for a minute when he came home.”

She rested her cheek in one hand, elbow propped on the table and shoulders slumped, staring fixedly at her plate. “He went out one night and came home completely pissed. He must’ve taken some muggle pills somewhere in there, because he was dead when I got up the next morning. Overdosed.” She didn’t look up from her plate. Fragments of that last night and the horror that followed slipped across her mind’s eye, as she fiddled absently with the diamond ring on her right hand.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius offered.

“Yeah, me too.” Sitting back in her chair with her arms crossed, she grimaced, looking out the window, and let out a long breath. “Really, the last year of it was sort of shite. I didn’t realize it then, but now...now I wonder if we would have stayed married.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah. I mean, maybe I wouldn’t have realized, would have just gone along and let him keep being in charge, kept cleaning up after him.” She shrugged. “Or maybe he would have pulled it together and it would have been fine. It’s the ‘what ifs’ that kill me, yeah?”

“Yeah, I do” he said quietly. The past thirteen years had been filled with days and nights—agonizing, never-ending nights—of what ifs and could have beens, trapped in that hell hole of a cell. The Dementors didn’t even need to be there. What if James had said no to making Peter secret-keeper? What if he hadn’t gone after Peter? What if he’d had a trial? Or, now, agreed to see Caitlin’s grandfather and uncle when they’d come to Azkaban?

Quickly doing the maths, he noted she’d lost three of the most important people in her life inside of ten years. What if her parents hadn’t died? What would her life have been like? What if she hadn’t met Steve? Or he’d stopped drinking, or hadn’t popped that pill?

What if...what if...what if...it was a cruel mantra. Another little piece of the puzzle clicked in place for Sirius, a reason for the shadows under her eyes and the lines around her mouth. They looked at each other for a long moment, recognizing each other’s pain and loss as their own.

“Well,” Caitlin said with finality, standing up. “On that cheery note, we have a trip to plan.”

He appreciated that she referred to it as a trip, like they were just two friends traveling together. Nevermind that their “trip” was really a clandestine flight from one city to another and the result of getting captured would be having their souls sucked out by creatures from the seventh circle of hell. No matter. It was silly, but her attitude made the whole situation a little bit lighter, a little easier to bear. But she was careful, too. He was sure now that he’d been wrong about her in the beginning, wrong to doubt her.

The remainder of the evening was spent planning their route to St. Petersburg. According to Donnie’s letter, the Russian wizards hadn’t been paying much attention to the Ministry’s manhunt for Sirius, both because of Dawlish’s incompetence and because there were no indications that he would head that way. Kate had, however, found an ally in Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Auror leading the case, who had been feeding false leads to Dawlish and the rest of the team, so she reckoned Sirius and Caitlin were still safe for the time being.

“Good,” she said. “And if by chance they get wind you’re in Russia, it’ll throw them off our trail. They won’t think to look in the Mediterranean.” They’d already agreed not to tell anyone else where they were headed.

Getting in and out of St. Petersburg should be relatively easy, she thought. Donnie had all their papers and an identity for Sirius, who Donnie thought should disguise himself in a human form rather than as a dog. Caitlin thought that was mad, but Sirius was not going to be dissuaded now that Donnie had given him the opportunity.

Donnie and the others were to arrive ahead of the band and arrange an isolated meeting point for them. This wasn’t out of the ordinary and wouldn’t arouse suspicions. Cait rarely flew on muggle airplanes—they were horrible, uncivilized creations. All those people stuffed into a metal tube, cramped together and unable to move around for hours and hours. It was a method of torture, really. She much preferred traveling by portkey. A cover story for her comings and goings was a necessity, as were false travel documents just in case. They went to bed with plans in place, feeling optimistic about the next leg of their adventure.

* * *

 

Cait Callaghan had secrets. Three of them, to be exact. Not dark, nefarious secrets, but three things she shared with no one. One was an integral part of her identity. Her closest family knew this one, and fought hard to protect her from the danger other’s knowledge of it would carry. The second was the first, and probably most profound, tragedy of her life. People knew that story, she’d had to share enough to be useful. But the details, those were hers and hers alone. People also knew the general outline of the third–it had been so public–but again, the specifics belonged only to her. Steve knew the first two, but he’d known all her secrets. He was her first lover, the only man she’d ever loved, and her best friend. Telling him was the only time she’d ever told anyone the full details of both, and she meant never to do it again. The third secret, well that one was about him. Technically, spiritually, he probably knew that one too. No one else knew them though, not in full. Not Connor, not Jeannie or Tonks, or any of her cousins.

As she drifted off on the couch in the quiet darkness, Cait knew she was she was going to have to share one of these secrets with Sirius soon. It was only a matter of time before she would give it away or he would get suspicious, and it was only right to be straight with him. But two of the three in 24 hours? That was something she was definitely not prepared for.

* * *

 

Sirius lay awake, feeling like he should keep a watch of sorts, though they hadn’t discussed it. He wasn’t accustomed to not keeping one, and his head was spinning from the events of the day. It had been quite a roller coaster, from waking up holding Caitlin’s hand to the adrenaline rush the owl’s arrival brought, the novelty of shopping, and finally learning something about this woman he had been thrust into traveling with. It was a lot for anyone, nevermind a man who was accustomed to solitary confinement.

Shopping had been exhilarating. He had thoroughly enjoyed himself, despite having to remain invisible and dodge the throngs of tourists. It felt so good to be out in public, doing things regular people did, and to be able to wear proper clothes. She had beautiful taste. The boutiques she’d chosen were high-end and fashionable, similar to places he would have chosen before his life had gone to hell. The clothes felt good, made him feel good wearing them, made him feel normal. She had paid for everything. He was going to have to repay her somehow, even though she’d said not to worry about it. He hoped she would accept it, when the opportunity presented.

Sirius understood now what Donnie meant when he said she could melt into the muggle world. She transitioned back and forth with ease. He supposed she lived with muggles long enough that it was second nature. She couldn’t use magic around her husband, not technically anyway. Lots of wizards that married muggles ignored that part of the Statute of Secrecy. She certainly couldn’t have used it around their muggle friends and, if Sirius remembered correctly, being on tour with a band meant everyone lived in pretty close quarters. Donnie had told he, James, Remus, and Peter stories about being on the road.

Sirius felt the familiar pang of empty sadness and regret at the memory of James. Every time— _every single time—_ he thought of James a pit of emptiness opened in his gut, like a piece of himself was missing. It didn’t matter that it had been thirteen years, the loss of James and Lily would be as fresh and painful as an open wound till the day he died.

He rolled over, pulling the soft sheet up around him. Caitlin—he called her that only in his head—was on the couch, silhouetted in the light from the windows. He could hear her rustling slightly. As much as he admired how easily she’d moved through the muggle world, he’d also noted how observant she was. She chose each boutique carefully based on how easy it would be to escape and how few customers it had. She had known every shop associate’s name by the time they left, paid attention to where they were at all times, and chose dressing rooms based on how easy they might be to defend and to give him the most cover. She hadn’t left anything to chance. Each move was careful and calculated. He understood now why Remus had so much faith in her, why her family had chosen her to go with him.

Reviewing the details of their “trip,” he realized that she never said why she had to go or what she was doing. Was she performing? Modeling? They were going to meet the band Donnie did sound for, her husband’s band. They were her friends. Maybe it was a favor? If so, maybe they didn’t have to go. Not that he minded, really. His friends would be there too, and he loved concerts. He made a mental note to ask her about it in the morning.

Notably, she hadn’t acknowledged their sleeping situation that morning. He figured she would have reacted somehow. But she didn’t rip her hand from his or jump out of bed...well, not because of him. She seemed perfectly comfortable with it. The arrival of Athena the owl had sidetracked Sirius and he’d forgotten about it till he was back in bed. Now he wished she were next to him again. He wondered again how this had happened, how this woman made him feel so at ease, like he’d known her forever, and how it made him restless when she was nearby.

The rustling from the couch had become more pronounced, punctuated by small moans and whimpers. He momentarily wondered if she was frigging herself. This thought was quickly pushed from his mind as she became more coherent.

“No...don’t, please...mmmph...mum!” She was dreaming. “You son of a...” The rustling quickly turned to thrashing, her voice panicked, scared. “No! No! Don’t hurt...let me out!”

It wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare. A particularly vicious one from the sound of it. Sirius tossed the covers back and rolled out of bed, padding quietly to the couch. Standing over her, he was acutely aware that he had bitten her head off the previous night about waking someone from a nightmare. Listening to her thrash and moan brought the realization that if he sounded anything like this, he would’ve done the same. He knelt down on the floor beside her and reached tentatively for her shoulder.

“No! _No! DADDY!_ ” she yelled, and sat straight up. Sirius drew his hand back, not sure if she was awake or if this was part of the nightmare. She was panting hard, like she’d just sprinted a mile.

Quietly he said, “Callaghan?” She jumped, startled that he was right next to her. “Alright, love?”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Sirius started to wonder if she was actually awake. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Yeah, I’m alright.” She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, dropping her face down into them, still breathing hard.

Sirius reached out and gently brushed her shoulder. She was trembling slightly. “You sure? That sounded like a good one.”

“Yeah. I...I haven’t had that one in a long time,” came her muffled reply.

“Can I get you anything?”

She turned her head towards him and let out a long breath. “I could use a drink. There’s a bottle of Ogden’s in my bag.”

Sitting cross-legged on the couch when he returned with the bottle and two of the hotel glasses, she made room for him to sit down. He handed her a generous pour. “Cheers,” he said, tilting his glass her way.

“Slainte,” she replied, and downed hers in one go. She held her glass out to him in a silent refill request.

“Easy there, mate.”

She looked back at him, one eyebrow raised. “Afraid I can’t hold my drink?”

He eyed her from his position next to her. She had nestled herself into the corner of the couch and was still rather pale and shaky, he could tell even in the dark. “Nah,” he said, pouring her another healthy slug. “I think you can manage just fine.” She didn’t throw this one back though, but turned the glass in her hands, not seeing it. They sat next to each other in companionable silence for a few minutes, Sirius savoring the whiskey. It was his favorite, but he had almost forgotten what it tasted like.

“You have that one often?” he asked, interrupting her musing.

“I used to,” she grimaced. “Every night, till Madame Pomfrey started giving me a sleeping draught so the other girls could sleep.” They’d become less regular as time passed, as the empty feeling inside her dulled. Meeting Steve had helped. It started all over again when he died, her own dreams forcing her to relive the horrors she tried to escape in her sleep. These too had become less regular over time. Their conversation this evening must’ve churned up the cauldron of memories.

“I wish she was a around to give me a sleeping draught in Azkaban. I could’ve used one once in a while.” He paused for a moment, looking at his own drink. “About your parents?”

Her eyes flicked up to his, but she looked away quickly. “Yeah.”

Like always, the nightmare had started with finding Steve’s body. She refused to think of that moment as finding Steve, because he had already gone. The body on the couch was just a shell, a vessel in which the man she loved had inhabited and left behind. But she didn’t share that with Sirius. She didn’t share that with anyone.

“They were targets, you know.” She didn’t know what made her say it.

The statement, the matter-of-factness, took him by surprise. “Your parents?”

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed.

“I heard that, in Azkaban. Some of the Death Eaters...mentioned it.” Gloated about it, was more like it. Screamed it. They liked to taunt him. Sometimes it was mad raving, sometimes it was jeers as they passed his cell, usually about James and Lily. Occasionally they branched out into other friends, people like Patrick and Maeve, that they knew were Order members.

“They knew they were targeted.” She had no idea why she was saying any of this. It was a subject she normally avoided at all costs, but she felt like she was going to burst if she didn’t, and she didn’t feel like she could stop. “It was after the Longbottom’s had been tortured and James and Lily killed, during Christmas hols. I was twelve. You remember that Dad was Frank Longbottom’s partner?” Sirius nodded. “Mum and Dad knew they’d been targeted, they were prepared in case the Death Eaters came knocking. They’d spent that whole fall sort of hiding, sort of refusing to. You know how they were.”

Sirius remembered. Maeve, forever the rebel, would have probably walked out on the porch of their little house with her arms spread wide in invitation, yelling, “Come and get me, motherfuckers!” Patrick would’ve been a silent half-step behind her. But they had Caitlin. The safety of their only child meant enough that they would have toned it down a touch.

“When I came home for the hols, they’d already made a safe room for me in house protected by fidelius charm, next to the fireplace, just in case. They knew the Death Eaters were getting bolder, desperate. The Ministry was trying to protect them, but...when they finally found us, my parents forced me into that little room. I didn’t want to go, to be trapped. The door was glass so I could see out, but no one could see or hear me and I couldn’t get out. Dad had sealed the door.”

Sirius stared at her, horrified. “You were there? You saw it?”

She nodded, still looking at her glass, and taking a deep, shaky breath pushed on, still unable to stop. “I could see Bellatrix torturing him, using the cruciatus curse over and over, cackling and shrieking and dancing around him as he writhed in agony. She wasn’t even trying to get information, just reveling in the cruelty, mad with bloodlust.” Her twisted face reflected the horror and disgust Sirius felt hearing her words.

“They separated my parents, taking them in different rooms, thinking they’d be able to break them easier. I couldn’t see Mum or the man torturing her, but I could _hear_ him. He didn’t say much I could hear, but at one point he said ‘I’m going to enjoy making you scream.’ His voice, I’ll never forget it…” It was cold and low, smooth as ice, and cut through the noise Bellatrix made like a knife. It was terrifying. “She never did. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, no matter how much he tortured her.” Cait was pretty sure he’d raped her mother, too.

“Bellatrix started taunting them both, trying to find me. They knew I was there. They must’ve been watching us. She kept calling ‘Here kitty, kitty. Come out, come out wherever you are’ and shite like that, trying to get me to reveal myself, promising to spare everyone if I did. I tried, but they’d done a pretty good job on that room. Dad laughed in her face. That finally pushed her over the edge and she killed him.” Just like that. Bellatrix turned and pranced out of the room before his body hit the floor, leaving the shell of Patrick Callaghan discarded there, like garbage. “I’m not sure if she or her companion killed Mum. All I could see was Mum’s hand and arm reaching through the doorway, reaching for Dad. And then it was over.”

She fell silent, eyes far away. Mad-Eye had been secret keeper for her little spot. When the Aurors and her family finally arrived, she’d spent hours trapped in that room, the bodies of her parents just out of her reach. Mad-Eye let her out, bloody and bruised from her desperate attempts to escape the little room, face streaked with tears. It had been so long she’d already stopped shaking from the shock, gone numb from grief and fear and exhaustion.

Sirius extended his arm toward her, inviting her closer. She moved over to him on the couch, resting her head on his shoulder. “They were the first people I saw die,” she continued, her voice  more controlled now. She hadn’t cried through her confession, though Sirius was certain she was fighting the urge, but her Irish accent was much more pronounced. “I didn’t talk to anyone for months afterwards. Only when I was spoken to, and only saying what was necessary. I saw them every time I closed my eyes, and I was terrified that it was all going to tumble out of my mouth, like it is now, and that talking about it would make it worse. I told Mad-Eye enough to do his job, to make sure they were caught, but no one needed to know all the gory details, to know what those monsters did to them. So I just stopped talking. I had nightmares about it every night for years.” Tumble out like it just did, she thought grimly. There was one secret. Not one she had meant to share.

They sipped their whiskey, digesting what had just happened. She had never, ever told that story to anyone except Steve. She didn’t understand what had compelled her to tell Sirius or why she felt like she couldn’t _not_ tell him, though maybe it was only fair, given what she knew of his dreams. Maybe it was because she knew he’d understand, that he’d seen similar things and lost those closest to him, too.

He didn’t understand why she told him either, but he did understand. Understood all too well the horror of losing those you loved the most, the emptiness left in its wake, the agony of reliving it every night, over and over and over. The emptiness and agony were his constant companions in Azkaban, alternating between waking and sleeping. The thought of Patrick and Maeve, his friends, dying at the Death Eater’s hands like that sickened him. It sickened him that their daughter, this fierce yet fragile woman sitting beside him, had been forced to see her parents torture and murder and relive it in her sleep, when sleep should have been a refuge, a safe-haven, from her pain.

There had been little refuge for him in sleep because of the nightmares. Though there had been some nights—some blessed nights—when the nightmares abated. His dreams on those nights, though he couldn’t remember them, were a little oasis of calm, a salve for his soul. Almost like he’d visited with a friend, or had a guardian warding off the nightmares. He would wake from those nights rested and peaceful. Those nights seemed to come in the summer mostly. He’d always attributed it to the less awful weather...something not-quite remembered tugged at his brain, familiar and just out of reach.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Caitlin said, breaking his reverie.

“You didn’t,” he replied softly. “I was still awake.” He hesitated for a split second. “Come to bed.”

He stood up and held out his hand. Cait looked up at him for a moment, then slipped her hand into his and followed him to bed.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this one! I had fun writing it. On to St. Petersburg!


	4. Dream On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sirius remembers he has a libido and the universe works against Cait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! There's another chapter. I had a really hard time with this one and I'm not crazy about how it came out, but I need to move on. I hope you enjoy!

_ Wednesday, June 15, 1994 _

Sirius woke early. The light was thin and grey, and it was still quiet on the street outside the hotel. A slight breeze pushed the curtains, making them float in front of the windows and bringing the smell of salt water with it. It was different here, the smell of the ocean. Pleasant, as opposed to the North Sea’s harsh odor. The smells of fresh bread and pastries wafting in on the breeze didn’t hurt either. 

They were holding hands again. He wasn’t surprised this time—they’d gone to bed that way. She had initiated it, threading her fingers tightly through his, clutching his hand like a life line. She was closer to him this morning, too. Not much, not touching any other part of him, but enough that he could feel the warmth from her body.

He watched her sleep again for awhile, her breathing soft and slow. Her long brown hair had started to fall out of the knot she’d twisted it into before she went to bed. It was a warm, rich brown with subtle streaks of red and gold, and he thought he could stare at it for hours and not get bored. He had to resist the urge to run his fingers through it.  It was still warm in the room and the sheets were pushed down around their waists. Her tank top was twisted just slightly, pulled snug over her breasts. He was certain he could stare at those for hours too, if he could get away with it.

His thoughts drifted, and he mulled over the events of the previous night, feeling a pang of grief for Patrick and Maeve. They had been his friends, and now that he knew about Patrick’s faith in his innocence...that just made it all worse. It was another loss to add to his list. As much as he understood the misery of her nightmares and wished they would stop for her sake, he was selfishly pleased that she’d had one just so she’d ended up in bed with him again. He knew it was wishful thinking, that she—this beautiful, sweet, fierce, vulnerable woman next to him—would ever want to hold his hand or be with him in any way once her task of seeing him safe was finished. He couldn’t allow himself to hope.

He liked her though, probably too much. Too much for knowing her for only five days. Too much for being so much older than she was. Too much for being a fugitive, innocent or not, too much for being a broken man, too much for not deserving someone as full of life as she was. Too much for what would be expected of someone to be with him. Even if she did return his feelings, she would tire of it eventually—tire of running, of hiding, of fighting, of being away from her own life. These thoughts swirled bitterly though his mind as he lie next to her.

But he would enjoy it for now. Enjoy her company, her warmth—physical and emotional—her laugh, her smell, her understanding, her comfort. He didn’t deserve those either, but he would take it as long as she was willing to give it. Even try to reciprocate. He longed to reach out and close the space between them, give in to the urge to run his fingers through her long hair, pull the rest of it out of the knot, to pull her close and feel her body pressed against his. 

“That’s an awful cheery expression first thing in the morning.” 

Caitlin’s voice startled him from his thoughts. She was watching him. She hadn’t pulled her hand away or moved at all, she was just watching his frown deepen, eyes far away. He was momentarily self-conscious, wondering how long she’d been watching, how much of his thoughts she could infer from his expression.  _ Ridiculous _ , he thought.  _ She’s no idea _ .

If only he’d known what Cait was thinking. She was also tempted to reach out and close the space between them. She wanted to trail her fingers down his bare chest, to press her lips to his neck and move up his jaw, press her body full against his. Roll him on his back and straddle him, kiss every inch of him, work her way down to his cock and lick it from— _ stop _ , she thought. She had to stop. She could feel the heat between her legs. It surprised her, really, that she felt this strongly about him. She hadn’t felt anything like this in a long time. It wasn’t what she expected. She wasn’t sure what to expect when she finally met him, but she definitely wasn’t prepared for the immediate intensity of her feelings, for how much she wanted him. 

Disentangling her fingers from his, she reached out and brushed her fingers across the number tattooed on his left shoulder, frowning. “Does it bother you?”

Her brief touch was replaced by a cold tingling, a reminder of the dark magic that had branded it into his skin. “Nah. Got used to it a long time ago.” His voice was rough and low from sleep, a growl. Merlin, he wanted her to touch him more. Anywhere. He felt the desire start to stir somewhere deep inside of him, someplace nearly forgotten.  _ Fuck _ . He didn’t need to get a stiffy now. It’d scare her right off. 

“Well, I hate it,” she said abruptly and, pushing herself up on her elbow, she leaned over and pressed her warm lips hard against the cold numbers, then rolled out of bed and strode into the bathroom.

Sirius lie there bemused, watching her walk away from him. His hand found the tattoo she had just kissed, the lingering warmth where her lips had pressed against it. What the hell was that? The stiffy he’d been hoping to avoid jumped to life, inspiring a moment of panic, but he relaxed when the muffled sound of the shower running drifted through the bathroom door. He had time to talk himself down, thinking about his mother or Dementors or some other mood killer.

* * *

 

Letting the warm water of the shower cascade over her, Cait felt like she hadn’t slept at all. Sleep had been elusive after her nightmare and when she finally did fall back asleep, it was fitful. Combined with the stress of the previous day—the shopping adventure and the confession of her parent’s death—she was emotionally drained. She felt groggy and fuzzy, almost hungover. 

Kissing his tattoo had been impulsive, she didn’t quite know what possessed her to do it, any more than she understood why she told him about her parents. She really hated that tattoo—everything it represented was foul and evil. Magically tattooing numbers onto prisoners, what had the Ministry come to? She shook her head in disbelief. It was dark magic that had placed it there. Maybe there was magic that could get rid of it? She made a mental note to look into that further at some point. Right now she needed to focus on shaking the groggy feeling and get moving. They had planned on leaving early, before the hoards of summer tourists came out, and get back to Buckbeak so they could start moving north as soon as it was dark. 

The shower didn’t help as much as she’d hoped. As she dragged her clothes on over her still damp body, she decided blow drying her hair was too much effort. She was just going to put it up anyway to keep it out of way, once they started flying. She was still feeling slow and fuzzy when she stepped back into the room. “We should get moving. I can get us some breakfast while you’re in the shower, if you want,” she said, head bent to one side and toweling her hair dry. She’d only taken a couple of steps outside the bathroom when she stopped short. Sirius was staring at her, head cocked to one side, brow furrowed.

“What?” she asked, confused, dropping the towel to her side.

“Your hair.” He was frowning slightly, his expression curious. “It’s...pulsing.” Her hair  _ was  _ pulsing gently, with different colors. There were streaks of red running lazily through it, a little blue and purple, and some blonde. Sirius stood up and moved toward her, watching the colors move through it. It was the most curious thing he’d seen in quite some time.

Cait froze for a moment, then started to move backwards toward the bathroom.

“Why is  it..?” 

“Oh...um….” She hesitated in the bathroom door, shifting uncomfortably.  She wouldn’t meet his eye. “It’s nothing. I’ll just fix it, where’s my wand?” She tried to step around him, but he grabbed her arm.

“No!” he protested. “It’s beautiful. But…” His eyes widened in sudden understanding. “You’re a spell thief.” 

It’s was a statement rather than an accusation, but he might as well have slapped her the way she flinched. A hardness he hadn’t yet seen swept over her face as she pulled herself up straight and looked him dead in the face. “I do  _ not  _ steal magic,” she said tightly. Her body had gone rigid and her eyes flashed indignantly, daring him to challenge her. 

He accepted. “Your hair,” he stated. “It’s the tell-tale sign of a spell thief.” Again it was a statement free of accusation, but it did nothing to mollify her.

“I. Am. Not. A. Thief.” She spit each word out, mouth twisting. “I  _ cannot.  _ Steal. Your. Magic.” She paused, inhaling deeply, chin tilted defiantly despite having to look up at him. “I’m a dreamwalker.” There was a note of pride in her voice, mixed in with the indignation. 

And there it was. Another of Cait’s secrets. She meant to tell him this one at some point. At some undetermined point of her choosing, with a bit more grace and control over the situation. But here they were, another hidden piece of her laid bare for Sirius Black to see. Cait had no idea what the universe was doing, forcing her to reveal her deepest secrets, secrets her closest friends didn’t fully  know, to this man in front of her. Or maybe it was him. A long moment passed as they stared at each other, almost sizing each other up. She was bracing herself for the ignorant, fear-filled rant that always came, the justification for concealing her hair and never telling anyone this secret. 

“Wicked,” he said. “I’ve never met a spell thi—” He caught himself. “A dreamwalker, before.” He reached out to touch her hair as he said it, stopping short when she flinched again, away from his hand. The streaking colors had sped up during their exchange, with brighter reds and flashes of white that replaced the blonde. The blues and purples had vanished.

“Sorry,” he said, drawing his hand back. “May I? It really is beautiful.”

Normally she wouldn’t let anyone near her hair, but she was exhausted and he didn’t really seem afraid of her, just curious. The tirade she had expected had not come—yet. He and his friends had been really clever wizards, it was possible he might know more than she was giving him credit for. The opportunity to see a dreamer—that was another name for it—openly was quite rare. She had never been crazy about being some kind of circus freak, but his curiosity seemed sincere. 

He’d let go of her arm when he reached for her hair. She stepped around him to retrieve her wand and waved it to remove the remainder of the faltering concealment charm, watching him as he took in the various colors. They had slowed down a bit, just streaks moving down the length of her long brown hair. 

“Go ahead,” she said wearily. Her heart was beating much faster than her voice or hair betrayed at the anticipation of his touch. It was a rare moment of cooperation from her hair, which often felt like it had a mind of its own and betrayed her every emotion to those who knew how to read it. He reached out again and touched her hair, tentatively starting at the ends. After a moment his hands began moving more quickly up towards her scalp and along the length of her hair. She started to smile as she realized what he was doing. “Are you trying to catch the colors?”

Sirius grinned sheepishly and threaded his fingers through the roots of her hair. “Can’t they be caught?”

“Nope,” she replied, letting her head fall into his hand. He returned the pressure, working his fingers further into her hair. It was nearly dry now, and just as soft and lush as he’d imagined. The pulsing colors were mesmerizing, and they had changed yet again. The red was still there, although it had mellowed to an auburn color that could have been natural highlights, and the blue had returned. His eyes moved to her face as he pushed her hair back, brushing a thumb across her cheek. His stomach flipped as he noticed how close they were. Too close. Again he found himself imagining closing the space between them in a second, threading his fingers through her hair, and kissing her slowly, completely. Her breath caught, shaking him out of his reverie.

Quickly pulling his hand out of her hair, he stepped back, immediately aware of the cool emptiness of the space between them. “What kind of magic does a dreamwalker have then, if you don’t steal magic?”

Her eyebrows crept up her forehead. “Dreaming?” she said, a wry smile teasing around her mouth. 

He barked a laugh. “Cheeky, aren’t you?”

Cait snorted. “I’m the cheeky one?”

Sirius’s stomach flipped again. She couldn’t know what he was thinking, wouldn’t have returned the kiss. At least he didn’t think she would. “Quit avoiding the question, Callaghan,” he teased, returning them to what felt like safer territory.

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Dreamers can watch people’s dreams, manipulate them, even be part of them. I can wander through people’s consciousness while they’re asleep, see their memories and their secrets, find their true selves deep inside where we’re all buried, deep in the unconscious.” 

Sirius was listening intently, his grey eyes locked on her blue ones. "Go on."

Cait moved past him and flopped on to one of the couches. “We used to be healers of a sort. People would come to a dreamer when they needed help with non-physical illnesses, or illnesses traditional healers couldn’t mend. We can roam the subconscious and help heal emotional wounds, like the wizard version of muggle therapy.” Sirius thought there was a touch of bitterness in her voice at this. “Then some started to abuse that privilege, to manipulate and use their patients for their own gain, or experiment on them. They manipulated their memories, altering details or changing them altogether. Actually changing who the person was. Kind of like the Imperious curse, but with even fewer outward signs.” Her revulsion for this was clear. “We became feared as a result, and dreaming became associated with the Dark Arts.” She shrugged. “It’s not, it’s a skill you’re born with. But the temptation to use it for one’s own gain can be enormous.”

“It’s a really rare bit of magic.”

“Yeah. I’ve only known one other, and he’s dead.” Sirius looked at her sharply. He was pretty sure he could guess who that was, although he would have never known when he was alive. And he wasn’t going to ask, not after last night.

“How does it work?” he asked instead. “Do you have to be asleep?”

She nodded “There’s a spell to put yourself in a dream state, or you can do it when you’re asleep. You have to learn how to control when you enter the dreamscape, and how to move through to find a particular dream.”

“What does it look like, the dreamscape?” he interrupted, dropping down onto the opposite couch and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“Like a starry sky, and each dream is a point of light. For me, anyway,” she added. “I don’t know if that’s how it looks to all dreamers. Once you find the dream you’re looking for, you can either watch from outside or enter into it. I'ts kind of like dropping into a memory in a Pensieve. But it’s not just a dream, it’s someone’s psyche that you’re entering. It’s best, safest, for both parties not to make your presence known.”

The nagging feeling from the previous night of something just on the edge of memory returned as Sirius listened to Caitlin’s revelation, but it was overwhelmed by his fascination. A dreamer. Dreamwalker. Spell-thief. Whatever you called it, “rare” was an understatement. According to everything he remembered reading in the libraries of Hogwarts and Azkaban, which wasn’t much, dreaming was as good as extinct. She was right about the fear, too. Wizards were terrified of dreamers. The stories mothers told their children cast dreamers as bearers of nightmares, thieves  who chose badly-behaved children or wicked adults as victims, plaguing them with horror-filled nights while slowly draining them of their abilities like magical vampires. Like most old wives tales, there was a grain of truth in there. Caitlin could manipulate dreams and cause nightmares, if she chose. The rest, however, seemed to be superstition.

Sitting across from him she was looking very anxious, biting her lip. Realizing she was waiting for some kind of sign of acceptance from him, he grinned at her. “Relax, Callaghan. I’m not going to run screaming from the room.”

“That’d be bleedin’ brilliant, wouldn’t it?” she replied dryly. “Wouldn’t attract any notice at all.” But her body had shifted immediately into a more relaxed position. “So. Now that you’ve discovered my deepest darkest, the water’s warm,” she said, gesturing toward the loo. “We should get moving.”

* * *

Sirius continued to pepper her with questions as they cleared any trace of their presence from the room and slipped as quietly as they could from the hotel. The lobby was fairly deserted at the early hour leaving Cait able to check out relatively unnoticed, and they disapparated back to the barn and Buckbeak without incident.

Buckbeak was contentedly scratching for worms when they returned. None of the protective wards had been tested as far as they could tell, and their exit from Nice had been uneventful. They settled in, waiting for night to fall so they could start north.

“So that’s a deep, dark secret, is it?” Sirius teased, referring to her dreamwalking.

“Yeah, well. It’s not something you want most people knowin,’ is it? Puts a little kid right in the Ministry’s crosshairs. And anyone else who thinks they can use it for their advantage.”

“Who else knows?”

“My close family, mostly. Kate, my grandparents, my uncles, Donnie, Connor and all them. My parents were really careful to keep it secret when I was little. After they were killed, someone had to cover my hair in the summers,” she smiled. “Now a few close friends know, and I’m pretty sure Dumbledore suspected, if he didn’t know outright. Madame Pomfrey insisted I needed to take that sleeping draught for far longer than my nightmares warranted.”

“What does the sleeping draught have to do with Dumbledore knowing you’re a dreamer?”

“The whole point of that potion is to have a dreamless sleep, isn’t it? I can’t dreamwalk after I’ve taken it.” She shrugged and looked down at her hands. “He never said anything specific, but he knows my grandparents pretty well, so who knows.” And her parents, she thought. They were close with Dumbledore, at least till the end. Patrick might have shared that with him.

“What about your hair? What does that have to do with being a dreamer?”

“Bit of a mystery, that. It’s a reflection of our emotions, the colors all represent a different one. What exactly it has to do with dreaming, no one’s sure. It’s just become the tell-tale sign, as you said earlier.”

“How do you find a particular dream?”

She was silent for a moment, thinking. “That’s hard to explain. You have to want to, I guess. So desire?”

“What happens when you...enter the dreamscape? That’s what you called it earlier, right? What do you do next?”

“It’s kind of weird. You don’t have a physical body in the dreamscape, right? You’re just... _ you _ , floating there. Your essence or something, floating around in this vast, inky blackness broken by a million points of light. I could just drift there, peaking in on whatever dream I come across, or if I know I’m looking for a particular dream, I can desire that dream and move through the dreams to that one.”

“Are there others like you, other dreamers? Do you see them?”

“Yeah, I see them moving through the dreamscape sometimes--”

“What do they look like?” Sirius interrupted. “The other dreamers.”

“Like shooting stars. I’ve tried to catch them, to make contact, but I’ve never managed to do it. I don’t know who they are. I don’t even know if it’s possible.”

“Why do you want to catch them?”

“I’ve never met anyone else like me,” she admitted, frowning. “I’ve had to fumble my way through this, learn how to do it and manage not to kill myself.” She shrugged again. “I’d love to talk to someone else who can do it, see what they can share.”

* * *

 

The trio left the barn as soon as night fell. They were meeting Donnie outside of Helsinki and driving to St. Petersburg, crossing the border like muggles. It would raise all sorts of suspicions if she just appeared in St. Petersburg. Westerners—especially famous ones—were still a bit of an anomaly in Russia and drew a disproportionate amount of attention. Just appearing somewhere without being seen crossing a border would not only attract the attention of the Russian wizards, but would also deeply interest the KGB. Cait wanted the attention of neither in normal circumstances. Driving would attract the least amount of attention. 

Buckbeak seemed glad to stretch his wings and fly again. Sirius felt far more at ease sitting with Cait in front of him on this leg of the journey, now that he felt like he knew her a bit. And now that they’d started talking, it seemed like they couldn’t stop. They’d learned all sorts of things about each other. She loved music. Not that it was a surprise, considering what he already knew, but he was impressed by the breadth of her interests. There was the obvious love of rock, especially American, and punk. She attributed much of it to her dead husband, who also had a wide range of musical interests, but Sirius suspected he’d only set her down the path. She kept exploring on her own, delving into classical music, blues, jazz—Remus introduced her to lots of this—folk, and a new American genre called hip hop. She got so excited about this even he was interested in hearing it. 

She was intensely curious about his musical interests as well. His favorite band was the Rolling Stones, which she also got very excited about and proceeded to discuss Mick Jagger’s vocal interpretation style at length. His interest in the specifics waned after a while, but he let her go on because he liked hearing her so passionate. He loved punk too, which pleased her. He had felt an immediate affinity with the punk movements railing against authority, loved the energy and fuck you attitude. James and Remus hated it, which just made him like it more. 

She also learned that he was a voracious reader, mainly of horror and suspense—he was appalled she’d never read _Frankenstein—_  but also Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, Orwell and Salinger, and other great novelists. Much of it was too serious for her tastes. They both loved Quidditch and, coincidentally, had both played chaser on the Gryffindor team. They both supported Puddlemere United. She had spent a good while in the barn catching him up on the team’s history over the past decade. 

“When did they start calling it St. Petersburg again?” he asked in her ear, over the rush of night air. “I thought it was Leningrad.” 

She snorted. “Of course you know that. You read  _ Anna Karenina _ in its original Russian, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” he said, tossing his hair with mock cockiness. “I speak that fluently too...well, I did. Probably a little rusty now.” Since they both spoke French, Donnie had decided Sirius would disguise himself as a Frenchman. They picked the most generic, hopefully forgettable French name they could think of—Claude. Cait didn’t know what role Donnie had dreamed up for Claude the French guy, but it made her nervous to know he was going to be in human form, disguised or not. 

“Good, you can be my interpreter while we’re there then, because I don’t understand a lick of Russian.”

“What are you going for, anyway?” Sirius realized he hadn’t gotten around to that question yet. 

She sighed. “The band. It’s their show, a one-off. They asked me to come and sing with them a couple months ago when it was booked. I haven’t really seen them much lately, so I said I’d do it. Can’t back out now.” The reluctance in her voice was evident. 

“You don’t want to do it?”

Cait sighed unhappily. “They want me to play the grieving widow, to play up the tribute to Steve.”

“Why?”

“The fans like it, and they’ve never played in Russia before.”

She was clearly not excited about the prospect. They flew in silence for awhile, the ground slipping by below them while they scanned the sky for anything strange. It was just as quiet as it had been on their way south. 

“They changed the name back after the wall fell, by the way,” Cait said over her shoulder.

“What?” Lost in thought, Sirius had forgotten his initial question. 

“St. Petersburg. They changed it back after the wall fell.”

“Wall?” he asked, momentarily confused. “What wall?”

“The Berlin Wall?” she answered quizzically. 

“What? The Berlin Wall came down? When?” Now he was really confused. How could he have missed an event like that, even in Azkaban?

“1989... I guess I should catch you up on the muggle world too, yeah?”

He was incredulous. “Yeah, I think you should! Especially if I’m going to pretend to be one. I didn’t think the wall would ever come down.”

“Well, it finally did. It all sort of started around 1987, when Bowie played a concert at the wall in West Berlin. There was a riot afterwards on the eastern side, that was kind of the beginning of the end. Thatcher and the Americans had already spoken out against the wall, put some political heat on the East Germans and the Soviets to get rid of it. There were a couple more concerts on both sides of the wall, and then--this was bloody amazing--there were revolutions in Poland and Hungary.  _ Successful  _ ones! That was like 1989. The East Germans followed suit and East and West Germans tore the wall down themselves, in November. I guess that was the end of the Cold War, symbolically anyway. The Soviet Union didn’t officially dissolve till the end 1991, but things started opening up and they started letting western musicians in after Moscow Music Peace Festival. That was a bunch of American bands in 1989. Now people there can’t get enough. The music was always there, you know, on the black market. But now that it’s legal the demand is just huge. This is Def Leppard’s first time there. The show sold out in an instant.”

They continued to talk about the ways the world had changed over the past thirteen years as Buckbeak flew northeast over central Europe. Dumbledore, if he had any way of knowing what they were doing, would be relieved. It had been a gamble, sending Sirius to the Callaghan’s. He was sure Enda Callaghan would help Sirius, but not sure how. He wasn’t sure he’d send him abroad, or that he’d choose his favorite great-granddaughter to go with him. Or that she’d agree, although Dumbledore’s instincts told him she would. Whether Sirius would accept the help...well, that was another variable. And the company, or that the two would get along. There again his instincts told him they would. Remus had once mentioned that he thought the two of them would take to one another, and Dumbledore had shared a laugh with Minerva when Cait was still in school, thanking the Fates that she and Sirius weren’t there at the same time. Just as much trouble, she was. There were too many variables for his liking, too many guesses. He was pleased and relieved when Enda sent word that they’d gone, hopeful this guesses would turn out to be good.


	5. On Through the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On to St. Petersburg, lots of noise, and unexpected allies!

_ Saturday, June 18, before dawn _

It took them three nights to fly to Finland. The summer days were long and got longer as they went north, limiting when they could travel. Avoiding urban areas also prevented them from flying directly north, and it often wasn’t dark until after ten. Dawn came early, before four. They kept to the forested areas of southern Germany, the Czech Republic, and Poland, until they could finally turn north. 

Donnie had arranged a meeting spot mid-way between Helsinki and the Russian border, and they found themselves gliding down from the predawn darkness into an isolated farm field between a barn and a copse of trees. Five silhouetted figures emerged from the shadow of the barn as Sirius and Cait hopped down from Buckbeak’s back. Cait tensed as she watched them move closer, stretching a hand out to stop Sirius from moving away from Buckbeak. “There were only supposed to be four,” she murmured, reaching up and pulling her wand out of her hair. Her hair was useful that way. She could hide her wand in plain sight and muggles just assumed it was a hair stick. 

Sirius stood poised by her elbow, a quarter step behind her. She was small enough that he had a clear view over her head. It struck him as strange at that moment, that she was so small. Her presence was far greater than her physical being. He drew a deep breath, steadying himself for a fight. “Do you think something’s gone wrong?”

“Dunno,” she replied, eyes locked on the approaching group. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Sirius’ stomach leapt when he recognized Remus’s lanky figure as the group drew nearer, along with Donnie and two men of similar tall, lean build. Presumably they were Connor, Donnie’s younger brother, and Danny, his cousin. Those were the four people that were supposed to meet them. The fifth figure, still silhouetted in the breaking light, was slimmer and slightly shorter than the Callaghans, and seemed to glide across the ground. Sirius could make out a high ponytail as they moved closer. A woman? 

“Jeannie,” Cait breathed, shoulders relaxing slightly. She didn’t move away from Sirius to greet them though, and still held her wand at the ready. 

Remus’s presence was reassuring to Sirius, despite this potential glitch in their arrangements. He had faith that Remus would do everything possible to warn them if something was wrong, if they needed to run. 

“Cait!” the woman squealed, and took a couple of running steps before Donnie grabbed her arm and stopped her. With the subtlest movement of her wand Cait had silently cast both shield and revealing charms, simultaneously blocking the group’s progress and checking for disguises. Donnie stopped the woman from crashing right into the shield. 

Cait moved right up to the edge of the shield and pointed her wand at Donnie’s face. No one in the group moved. “What’s the last thing you said to me?” she demanded. 

Donnie appeared to be prepared for this, because he answered without hesitation. “I told you to be careful.”

“Where were we when you said it?”

“The  _ sean scioból cloiche _ .” Sirius recognized the word scioból, the Irish word for barn. He was going to have to brush up on his Irish in a hurry if he was going to spend a lot of time with this bunch.

She turned her wand on another of the men, who had an answer and a shit-eating grin ready. “I told ya you were a bleeding eejit for thinkin’ ya could beat Seamus at poker and losin’ all that gold, right before you told me to fuck off and die at me da’s pub,” he grinned. 

“Feck off,” she said, letting the shield charm drop. Remus had stood next to Donnie watching all of this patiently. Before anyone else could move or say anything, his wand was in Cait’s face. She didn’t flinch. “What was the last thing I said to  _ you _ , Ms. Callaghan?,” he asked her mildly. 

Cait cocked an eyebrow at him, tilting her chin up just enough to meet the taller man’s eye. “You told me to stop believing in fairy tales about redemption and that I was wasting my time chasing a rogue Prince Charming, while you were throwing me out of your office at Hogwarts,” she answered, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. 

“And for that,” Remus said, dropping his wand arm and bowing his head slightly, “I apologize.”

“Bollocks when your students outsmart you, idinit’ Professor?” 

“Indeed,” he replied, a warm smile breaking across his face.  And to Sirius’ surprise, he reached down and hugged her, almost lifting her off the ground. Sirius nearly growled at this uncharacteristic display of affection before Donnie clapped him on the shoulder and started making introductions, beginning with the lithe, beautiful woman to his left. Jeannie, as it turned out, was Donnie’s wife and one of Cait’s best friends. A muggle, she and Cait had met on their first modeling job and had been friends ever since. Her appearance was meant as a surprise for Cait and she was a bit embarrassed that it had caused any suspicion. Conveniently, she was also French and promised to coach Sirius through the proper mannerisms in order to make his disguise as effective as possible. 

The remaining two men were indeed Connor and Danny, Donnie’s youngest brother and cousin. Danny, the man Cait had questioned after Donnie, and was quick with a joke and a laugh. Connor was far more reserved, shaking Sirius’ hand warmly enough and then stepping back out of the fray. Cait, once she and Jeannie were done hugging and squealing and generally acting like teenage girls, walked over and shouldered Connor, exchanging a few quiet words in greeting. 

“Alright, enough with the craic in the field,” Donnie proclaimed in his most serious road-manager voice. “We need to get moving.” He had arranged for Buckbeak to stay in the barn. The wizard owners were on holiday and would never know he was there. Once Buckbeak was settled–there were several other animals that didn’t seem bothered by his presence, and the stall was clean and warm-the human travelers piled into an old Mercedes van that looked like it had seen much better days. 

“A van?” exclaimed Cait, with mock horror. “You’re going to cram us in here like sardines for five hours? Where’s my limo?” 

“Limos come with drivers,” replied Connor, folding himself into the back of the van. 

“Aw, is a van not good enough for the internationally acclaimed musician and supermodels?” Danny scoffed. 

“You’re bloody well right it’s not! We deserve nothing but the best money can buy,” she replied in her best spoiled aristocrat tone.

“Connor got the van, this is the best his money could buy. You know his wallet’s tighter than a Gringotts vault!”

This banter went on between the Callaghans, a warm mix of English and Irish and a bit of French, and Sirius found himself wedged in the middle of the van with Remus, a bit overwhelmed by the noise and proximity of so many people. “Is it always like this?” he asked quietly. 

Remus nodded. “It is. It’ll die down after awhile.” Sirius knew it was normal, the multiple conversations and joking and noise, but being completely overwhelmed by it made him feel very out of place. He would’ve cast a silencing charm but he still didn’t have a wand. Remus must have sensed Sirius’ rattled nerves because he didn’t try to talk to him over all the din, which Sirius was incredibly grateful for. There were a million questions buzzing through his brain that he was eager to ask, but there was no way he’d be able to focus with all the activity.  

* * *

 

After a couple of hours everyone had settled down, lulled by the mostly gentle rocking of the van. Sirius found himself staring out the window, half-dozing and wondering how close to the Russian border they were, when Donnie’s voice floated up from the front. “You have a gig tomorrow, at the Leningrad Rock Club,” he said, looking at Cait in the rear view mirror. 

Her head, which had been resting on the back of the van’s bench seat in front of Sirius, snapped up in surprise. “What? When did that get scheduled?”

“It was requested by the promoters at the last minute. Once they heard you would be at the Leppard gig, they wanted you to play solo, too.”

“But...shit. Is Rick down to play, too? And I need a bass player.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, now. Sav said he’d play, or Connor. It’ll be fine.”

“But what about Sirius? I can’t just leave him and go runnin’ around St. Petersburg on the tear,” she said, the pitch of her voice rising. “I’m supposed to be protecting him! And I need you lot at the show.” Sirius felt his hackles start to rise at this. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. 

“He’ll be fine. He’s going to be part of the security team.” Donnie’s eyes flicked to Sirius in the mirror. “Alright with you, mate?”

Sirius eyes lit up and the irritation disappeared. “Alright.”

“Now, get your rockstar on,” Donnie said, eyes moving back to Cait. “The soldiers at the border know you’re comin’, and someone let it slip at the hotel, too. There’s a massive crowd waitin’ for ya.”

“Fuuuuck,” she groaned. “Fine.” She managed to change in the van, donning figure hugging torn jeans, a black Rolling Stones t-shirt with the famous mouth emblem and “Emotional Rescue” emblazoned across the front, black boots, and aviator sunglasses. She handed Sirius another pair of sunglasses. “Here. They’ll look good on you.”

“Oh right.” Donnie looked at Remus. “Take care of Sirius, would you, Moony?” 

Remus turned to face Sirius, who was looking skeptical. “What are you doing?”

“Disguising you,” Remus stated. “Be still.” 

A few Transfiguration charms later, Sirius faced front and tapped Cait on the shoulder. “What do you think? A proper Frenchman now?” Cait and Jeannie both turned and eyed him carefully.

“Can you make heez skin a bit darker?” Jeannie asked Remus. “Men from zee Loire Valley aren’t usually so pale. Otherwise you look very handsome.”

“We’re almost there,” Donnie called from the front. “Sirius mate, don’t forget you’re a French bloke named Claude. Girls, turn your charm on high, would you? We need as much attention on you two as we can get.”

“Just follow our lead, mate,” Connor said from the rear. 

It was a fairly small border crossing, mostly truckers. Most of the Soviet soldiers on duty were young and probably bored much of the time, because they had clearly been waiting for their arrival. Donnie went through the motions of trying to get them through without an “inspection,” but it was no use. The soldiers made a great show of making them all disembark and checking their papers. Cait and Jeannie intentionally went to the rear of the line, ensuring that the soldiers wouldn’t pay much attention to the men ahead of them. Danny nudged Sirius right in front of Cait knowing that they’d look at him the least. The soldiers were jostling with each other, speeding through the men to see who could get to Cait first. 

The young soldier--he couldn’t have been more than 18--who took Cait’s muggle passport flushed a deep red when she handed it to him. “ _ Privet _ ,” she said to him, smiling widely and leaning forward on to the counter, flashing a bit of cleavage. This elicited a number of low whistles and catcalls from his fellows, several of whom were gathered around Jeannie taking photos. His “inspection” of her papers was the briefest of the lot, as he mumbled something she clearly didn’t understand. “Sorry?  _ Ya ne govoryu po russki _ .” Sirius had taught her that on the way, but her pronunciation was terrible and the attempt flustered the poor kid even more.

“He asked for your autograph,” Sirius interjected quietly, trying to save the soldier any further embarrassment. 

The boy looked at him in surprise. “ _ Ty govorish' po-russki _ ? But you are French,” he added in thick English, gesturing at Sirius’ passport.

“ _ Da, nemnogo _ ,” Sirius nodded. “Some” was enough. Donnie had told him to keep his interactions with the soldiers to a minimum and he didn’t want to get involved in a full-blown conversation, so he left it at that. 

“Oh!” Cait exclaimed, nodding enthusiastically and drawing the boy’s attention back to her. “ _Da_! Of course!” She pulled a sharpie out of her pocket. All at once she was surrounded by the other soldiers, seemingly drawn to her like moths to a bright light, pulling Jeannie with them and clamoring for autographs of their own, passing around an ancient-looking camera for photos. The rest of them stood to the side, waiting and watching. Danny and Connor were particularly attentive, making sure no one got out of line. Sirius supposed he should do the same, though he assumed they couldn’t do much in a room full of armed muggles when they were trying not to attract any attention themselves. Cait patiently took a picture with each soldier, posing and playfully donning their hats. Sirius noticed she made sure to take a photo with the first soldier, who must’ve been the lowest rank of the lot the way he was shoved aside, after she’d done several others.

It took about an hour before they could get away. Safely settled back in the van, Sirius ran a hand over his face. “That went alright?” he said to the van at large. 

“It was fine, yeah?” Danny answered. “Coulda been worse. You think they bugged the van?”

“Probably. The Russians like to bug everything,” Connor said.  

They drove for awhile in silence, Cait staring out the window, until she finally asked the question Sirius knew had been eating at her. “Did they tell you what they want me to play?” 

Donnie sighed heavily. “Yeah.” 

She turned to him, eyes narrowed. “And?”

“Don’t be daft. What do you think they want you to play?”

She turned her face back to the window. “Such a fucking cliche,” she muttered darkly.

“Yeah, well. The crowd eats it up, don’t they?” 

She just scowled out at the passing landscape and fell silent again.

* * *

 

There was a massive crowd gathered outside the hotel when they arrived. “You four get out,” Donnie barked, referring to Cait, Connor, Danny, and Sirius. “I’ll go park this and be back. Make sure the crowd stays in check.”

Danny hopped out first, muttering, “Right, like the four of us are going to do much against this shit show.” Cait immediately started waving and signing autographs and posing for photos, a menacing looking Connor and Danny to either side of her. 

Fortunately the crowd was fairly well-behaved. Remus had slid out behind them and tugged Sirius to one side. “You don’t need to end up in a bunch of muggle photographs.” They watched for a while. Her patience was admirable, Sirius thought. He didn’t think he’d have the stamina to pretend to be polite or interested for all that long. Like the border crossing, her smile never faltered as she managed to appear interested in each person. Connor and Danny were well-practiced in managing the crowd, never allowing her to stay with one person for too long.

“She’s going to be awhile,” Donnie sighed, appearing at Remus’ side and handing him a room key. “Why don’t you two go upstairs. You look knackered. Jeannie’s up there, she can get you some dinner.”

The hotel was quite posh, at first blush even more so than the one in Nice, and they had a penthouse suite on one of the upper floors. Jeannie had already had dinner sent up and they both tucked in hungrily. Sirius’ appetite was starting to return and Remus was pleased with the transformation he could see in his friend, just in the past week. Color and a bit of fullness had returned to his face and a haircut and new clothes erased the escaped convict look. Made him look almost like the boy Remus remembered.

Sated and a bit sleepy, Sirius dropped onto a sofa in one of the sitting areas while Remus fixed them both a drink. “She’s quite the star, isn’t she?” He was still trying to process the transformation from the quiet, determined woman he’d met a week ago with the bubbly rock star signing autographs outside. He also wanted to know what Remus knew about her.

“She is,” Remus agreed, handing him two fingers of whiskey. “Not quite what you expected when Dumbledore sent you off with her?”

Sirius looked at him sharply. “What’s Dumbledore got to do with it?” 

“He sent you to the Callaghan’s, didn’t he?”

“So what? What’s that got to do with...her?” He was still calling her Callaghan when he talked to her. He wasn’t sure how to refer to her when talking  _ about  _ her. 

Remus stared into his drink for a moment. “I don’t think he knew for certain, but I think he hoped that Enda would send Cait with you. He sent you to them because of her, because he knows how she can move through the muggle world and switch between the two so easily. He was very pleased when he told me that’s who Enda had sent with you. As was I, honestly.”

“Why?”

“I’ve known her for a long time, Sirius,” he said as he settled himself on another sofa. “I assumed you’d get on well. You do, don’t you?” 

“Yes, we’ve been...fine. She’s lovely.” Sirius didn’t think he should share how fine they had become in the past seven days. Remus didn’t need to know that they’d been sleeping together, even if it was just sleeping. Or exactly how fond Sirius had become of her. But the wolf could smell the growing territoriality of the dog. He said nothing in acknowledgement of this, just noted it.

“How are you?” Remus asked instead. “Where have you been? Was there any trouble?”

“No, no trouble. It’s been easy. Too easy, really.” He filled Remus in on the details of the past seven days, omitting the more sensitive things he’d learned about Cait. “Has there been any indication of what the Ministry thinks, what they’re doing?” 

Remus smiled. “No, not beyond what was in  _ The Prophet _ after you escaped. It was a terrible embarrassment for Fudge.” The sarcasm in his tone matched the satisfied smile that stretched across his face. 

“What about Dumbledore? Has he made any attempt to get the Order back together?”

Remus’s brow furrowed at this. “No,” he said, watching his friend carefully. “Why would he do that?”

Sirius practically leapt off the couch and started pacing. “He’s gaining strength, Moony. He’s going to come back!” 

“What makes you think that?” Remus asked, alarmed. He wasn’t sure what to be more concerned about: the potential return of Voldemort or Sirius’ mental stability. “There’s been no indication that he’s returned, or returning.” 

“Oh, the things I’ve heard, Moony,” Sirius practically moaned. “People assume that you don’t hear anything in Azkaban, that you’re isolated from the world. But people are coming in and out all the time, and information comes with them. All sorts of things. Most of it’s nonsense, but sometimes…” He stopped pacing trailed off for a moment, eyes seeing something far away, but quickly shook himself out of it. “You learn to tell what’s real and what’s not after a while. And I’ve heard enough bit and pieces to know he’s not dead, that he’s gaining strength as we speak. Dumbledore must know that! He needs to get the Order back together, to get organized!”

“Sirius,” Remus began gently, hoping to quell Sirius’ growing agitation. 

“No, Moony, listen to me! I haven’t spent my entire adult life in that fucking shithole just to be ignored! All of the pieces of shit that come through the doors of Azkaban, most of them were involved somehow with Voldemort, either themselves or their families. They talk, and information makes its way around. He’s going to come back, and soon,” Sirius growled.

“No one’s ignoring you, Sirius, but there hasn’t been any significant sign that he’s gained strength-”

“Are you serious, Moony?” The anger was rising in Sirus’ voice now. “Don’t be a bloody fool. He’s attacked Harry twice since he’s been at school!” 

“I know, Sirius. But the wizarding world at large doesn’t know that. And the Ministry, Fudge. They aren’t listening. They don’t  _ want  _ to listen.”

“Then it’s left to Dumbledore! The Order members will listen to him, Remus.” Sirius was fully agitated now, pacing back and forth across the room and gesticulating emphatically. Remus was reminded of the ragged, slightly crazed man in the Shrieking Shack, and was forced to acknowledge that it was only a week ago that he saw that man. The man in front of him might look different, but that didn’t change the trauma he had endured. 

“He’s not going to take Harry. I will  _ not  _ allow him to take James’ son.” His voice cracked with emotion, and Remus wasn’t sure if he was still talking to him or even aware that he was still in the room. “Twelve years, Moony! Twelve  _ wasted  _ years rotting in that hell, freezing my arse off even when the Dementors weren’t around.” He wrapped his arms around himself at the memory. “As if nightmares weren’t enough. And listening to the screams, the endless screaming…” He nearly moaned in agony, clapping his hands over his ears as if the screaming was still audible and wrenching at his hair, bending over as if he was going to curl up into a ball on the hotel carpet. Again, it was fleeting. He straightened up and continued. “All that time I could have been raising him, giving him a better life, the way James and Lily wanted. But no, those fucking bastards packed me off like an animal, without the common decency of a trial, without anything. Just slammed the cell door shut and spread their filthy lies so they could sleep at night. They didn’t care if they had the right man. They just needed a scapegoat,” he finished bitterly.

A shuffling in the hallway made them both look up at Cait standing in the doorway, arms folded. Neither of them had heard her come in. She was wearing the strangest expression, as if she was struggling to keep her face passive, but her eyes betrayed her sadness. Sirius said nothing, just locked eyes with her. Remus noted that his whole body appeared to relax after he registered her presence. She reached for the door handle. “I’ll give you some privacy,” she said, starting to pull the door closed. 

“You don’t have to go. Sit down,” Sirius said quickly,  gesturing to the empty couch. “I’ll make you a drink.” Cait cast a questioning look at Remus as Sirius turned away to fix her drink. He responded with the slightest shrug. 

“Alright.” She made her way across the room and dropped onto the couch. Sirius held out a generous portion of whiskey, hands trembling slightly. Cait accepted as she looked up at him, her hand lingering a touch longer than necessary on his as she took the glass. There it was again, he thought, the sense of calm that came with her. It was going to be a problem when she left, because she  _ would  _ leave. All the good things in his life left. Or were taken.

“You look exhausted,” Remus remarked. 

“I am. That whole thing is exhausting. It’s been awhile since I’ve had to do it, I’m out of practice.” 

“Why do you do it?” Sirius asked.

“Because it’s part of the gig,” she explained, taking a sip of the whiskey and sinking into the couch. “The fans buy the albums and merchandise and come to the shows, tell their friends. They’re the whole reason I’m successful. I can’t just tell them to bugger off. Signing their stuff and shaking hands and taking photos is just part of it.” 

“Or taking their condolences,” Remus added.

“Yeah,” she frowned. “That too.”

There was a frantic pounding on the door to the suite, followed by a flurry of movement in all the rooms. Cait and Remus jumped to their feet, wands drawn. “For fucks sake,” she hissed.

Connor, Danny, and Donnie spread out into the hallway. Jeannie stood at Donnie’s arm, looking up at him. He nodded. “Who eez it?” she called.

“Oy! Open up!” an unfamiliar English voice called back. There was a murmur of relief as everyone else relaxed, apparently recognizing the voice. Connor pulled the door open and a man with shoulder-length curly brown hair came bounding into the room, followed by another man with long blonde hair. Cait practically flew down the hall.

“Rick!” she squealed, and leapt into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist. No, make that arm. The man’s left arm was missing. Sirius’s realization of this was quickly pushed aside by an intense wave of jealousy that hit him like a punch to the gut.  _ Another  _ man. She was surrounded by men, most of whom he knew and liked. But these two were new and he didn’t like the intense familiarity with which she greeted them. Who was this bloke? 

Before he could formulate a polite question, the blonde haired man was standing in front of him. “Sirius?” he demanded. “Sirius Black?” He looked around the room full of wizards. “What the fuck are you all playing at? Are you joking me?”

“Hush mate,” Danny hissed. “The room’s probably bugged.” The blond man brushed him off.

Cait let go of the curly haired bloke, turning to face Sirius and the blonde man. The room was completely silent. Sirius realized with a jolt of fear that the charms Remus had used to disguise him had worn off. This man knew who he was. His well-muscled body was taut and ready to strike. 

Cait stepped forward and put her arm on the blonde man’s arm. “Phil,” she started.

“Are you bloody mad?” he practically shouted at her. Donnie started forward as well.

“Phil. Mate,” he said placatingly. “It’s alright.”

The brown haired man was looking between them. “Sirius Black?” he said. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Would you bleedin’ stop saying that? His name is Claude!” Danny pleaded.

“Because it’s been all over the bloody news in England for a month,” the blond man spit out. “The escaped convict that they’ve been going mental trying to find?” Sirius saw the flash of recognition cross the other man’s face.

“Are you mad?” the brown haired man said, looking around the room. “You’ll get him killed.”

Sirius was caught off guard by his reaction. What did that mean, get him killed? It sounded like concern for his well-being.

“We’re shooting for the opposite, actually,” Donnie said.

“You’re taking the piss,” the man called Phil replied. “You cannot be fucking serious.”

“Serious we are, mate,” Donnie said. “He’s got the protection of the family.”

The blonde man stared at Donnie for a moment. “For fuck’s sake,” he said, letting out a deep breath and shaking his head. Turning to Sirius, he reached out a hand. “It’s been a long time, mate. It’s good to see you.”

Sirius stared at him. What the fuck? Who the bloody hell was this bloke? How did he know him?

Donnie intervened. “You remember Phil, Sirius? Phil Collen? He was the guitar player for Girl back in the day?”

“CLAUDE!” Danny interjected loudly.

Sirius stared at the blonde man for a few more moments, racking his brain. “Phil Collen. Aren’t you a squib?” he asked slowly. 

Phil grinned. “Yeah, that’s what everyone thinks.” Sirius did remember him. Phil was from Hackney in London, not far from his parents’ house on Grimmauld Place. His family wasn’t wealthy so they were never allowed to socialize growing up. Obviously Phil didn’t go to Hogwarts, but he still knew all the wizards their age. He and Donnie were close, it was how Donnie got into the muggle music business. Sirius grasped his hand, a bit bemused by meeting him here.

“Now,” Phil said, turning back to Donnie, “what in bleeding hell is he doing  _ here _ ?” 

“The family is protecting him.” 

“And?”

Donnie didn’t say anything. The two men stared at each other until Phil finally nodded, some kind of silent understanding reached. “Fair enough.”

The brown haired man stepped forward. He was slim and not quite as tall as Sirius, but his upper body and arm were powerfully built. Stretching out his right hand, he introduced himself. “Rick Allen. Cheers.” 

“Cheers.” Sirius shook his hand, meeting his curious gaze. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?” Sirius asked. The man looked familiar now that Sirius had a chance to look at him properly,  _ without  _ Cait wrapped around him. 

“I think so,” Rick said. “I remember seeing you at gigs with Donnie, years ago.” 

Sirius realized with a start who Rick was-the drummer. But his arm...how did he play? He’d have to ask Cait later. “Bloody hell, you were just a kid!” he exclaimed.

Rick shrugged. “Yeah, well. Things haven’t changed much,” he grinned.

* * *

 

“Fuck,” Cait muttered, face in her hands. She was leaning her head back on the couch, a fresh drink on the table next to her. Most of the people had gone, only Donnie, Sirius, and Remus were left. 

“What?” Donnie asked.

“There’s a lot of people that know we’re here all of a sudden,” she replied through her fingers. 

“People are supposed to know you’re here.”

She sat up and looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Piss off. You know what I mean.”

“It’ll be fine,  _ mamma beag _ ,” he said, standing up. “I’m knackered You should all get some sleep too.” She flipped him off as he walked out the door.

Sirius, standing at the fireplace opposite the door, turned to Remus, who was seated on the other couch. “Tell me what happened after Harry and Hermione got me out of there.” Remus filled Sirius in on the events that followed his escape from Hogwarts, from Snape’s meltdown to the dismissal of the Dementors, much to Sirius’ relief. He’d already sent Harry a letter that he would allow himself to be seen in order to get rid of them; now that was unnecessary. 

Somewhere in Remus’ story, Sirius had sat down on the couch next to Cait. She was leaning on Sirius’ shoulder, listening with her eyes closed. It was then that Remus gently dropped his bomb. “Snape let slip that I’m a werewolf, so I can’t go back.”

“That slimy git! Why does that mean you’re not going back to Hogwarts in the fall?” Sirius asked.

“I was fired,” Remus said uncomfortably.

“What?” Sirius sat up in surprise. 

Cait’s eyes had opened too. She was watching Remus, who shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “Yes,” he said. “I was fired.”

“Who fired you?” Cait asked, eyes narrowed. Sirius just caught the mixture of suspicion and skepticism crossing her face, which she quickly schooled to neutral.

“Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore fired you?” she said slowly, voice betraying just the slightest hint of disbelief.

Remus frowned. “Of course. Who else would fire a Hogwarts teacher?”

“Why would he fire you?” Sirius demanded.

“Dumbledore doesn’t want to deal with the all the parents who don’t want a werewolf teaching their children. And who knows what could’ve happened that night? I was loose on the grounds, surrounded by children, by potential targets!” He ran his hands through his hair in desperation.  “That cannot be allowed to happen again. I put all of those students, and the people of Hogsmeade, in danger! But,” he concluded with a thin smile, “I did give Harry the Marauder’s Map and the Invisibility Cloak. And his patronus is a stag.” He and Sirius exchanged a meaningful look. 

Cait allowed this distraction from the issue. Normally she wouldn’t let it slide that easily, especially with Remus. The two of them never allowed the other off the hook. She didn’t believe a word of his explanation, but now wasn’t the time to pursue it. It had already been a very long day and she didn’t have the energy to try reasoning with him.

* * *

 

There were too many people in the suite and not enough beds. Remus and Sirius were in the sitting room on the pull out couch. The couch looked posh when it was a couch, but once it got pulled out...well, it reminded Remus no matter how posh the suite, he was still in Russia. The bed was saggy and uncomfortable, and the mattress was about twenty years past its useful life. He hadn’t thought to put a cushioning charm on it. The spring poking into his ribs was a stark reminder that they were surrounded by the vestiges of the Cold War, and he was trying not to flop around too much and wake Sirius. He shifted gently, trying to find a less uncomfortable spot, and Sirius moaned.

“Sorry,” he murmured. Sirius grunted and flinched. “Are you alright?” Remus whispered. Sirius whimpered and started again. 

Before Remus could reach over to grasp Sirius’ shoulder, he heard the soft padding of feet. Cait approached the bed quietly and crouched down in front of Sirius, who was laying on his side. She shook his arm gently. “Sirius,” Remus heard her whisper. “Wake up.” 

Sirius started again, drawing a sharp breath. “What?” he mumbled. “Whassa matter?”

“You’re having a nightmare,” she whispered back. “Come to bed.” 

Remus watched him roll out of the sofa bed and follow Cait down the hall, heard her door close softly.  _ Interesting _ , he thought. He’d watched the two of them closely since they met in Finland. His sensitive ears had picked up the beginnings of Sirius’ growl as he hugged Cait that morning, but he wasn’t sure which one of them it was directed toward. Until the border crossing when he had watched Sirius, watch her. It concerned him slightly. Sirius, already broken by his family and the war and Azkaban, had been without proper human contact for a very long time. Cait was warm and affectionate and everything Sirius would normally gravitate towards, but just as lonely and broken, albeit in a different way. 

Remus had known Cait a long time and had thought more than once that Sirius would have liked her, but he would have never guessed they’d start sharing a bed immediately. He wondered exactly what that meant. He wasn’t jealous, per se. He and Sirius had shared a bed more than once, as friends and lovers. If you could call two drunk, curious teenage boys “lovers.” Sharing a dorm for seven years coupled with a bit of firewhiskey to stoke their courage had led to acting on some of their mutual impulses, but it had never been a serious relationship. Neither of them were interested in that at the time. He loved Sirius like a brother and was thrilled to have him back. But Sirius and Cait...there was a pair of broken souls, impulsive and fragile. Remus wondered why she had come out when she could have simply stopped the nightmare in her sleep.  _ Curious indeed _ , he thought as he finally got around to that cushioning charm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! I'm second-guessing posting this as a stand-alone chapter but since it's organized by day, here we are.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! The next chapter of What Sirius Did on His Summer Vacation is in the works!


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